UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


THE  QUEST 


:.    J 


BOOKS  BY  PIO  BAROJA 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  DISCREET 
YOUTH  AND  EGOLATRY 
CAESAR  OR  NOTHING 

THE  QUEST 
NEW  YORK:  ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF 


THE  QUEST 


BY 

PIO  BAROJA 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  SPANISH 

By  ISAAC  GOLDBERG 


NEW  YORK 
ALFRED  /  A  /  KNOPF 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  INC. 

Published,  October,  19tt 


Set  *9,  electrotvped.  and  printed  by  t\e  VaiZ-BaHou  Co. ,  Bingfiamton,  K.  Y. 
Paper  furnished  by  W.  F.  Etherinoton  &  Co.,  New  York. 
Bound  lv  tie  H.  Wolff  Estate,  New  York. 


MANUFACTURED     IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE 

I  Preamble — Somewhat  Immoral  Notions  of  a 
Boarding-House  Keeper — A  Balcony  is  Heard 
Closing — A  Cricket  Chirps  3 

II  Dona  Casiana's  House — A  Morning  Ceremony 
— Conspiracy — Wherein  is  Discussed  The 
Nutritive  Value  of  Bones — Petra  and  Her 
Family — Manuel;  his  Arrival  in  Madrid  10 

III  First  Impressions  of  Madrid — The  Boarders — 

Idyll — Sweet  and  Delightful  Lessons  25 

IV  Oh,  Love,  Love!— What's  Don  Telmo  Doing? 

— Who  is  Don  Telmo  ? — Wherein  the  Student 
and  Don  Telmo  Assume  Certain  Novelesque 
Proportions  38 

PART  TWO 

I  "The  Regeneration  of  Footgear"  and  "The 
Lion  of  the  Bootmaker's  Art" — The  First 
Sunday — An  Escapade — El  Bizco  and  his 
Gang  53 

II    The  "Big  Yard"  or  Uncle  Rilo's  House— Local 

Enmities  74 

III  Roberto    Hastings    at    the    Shoemaker's — The 

Procession  of  Beggars — Court  of  Miracles          84 

IV  Life  in  the  Cobbler's  Shop — Manuel's  Friends      95 


211615 


CONTENTS 

V    La  Blasa's  Tavern  104 

VI  Roberto  in  Quest  of  a  Woman — El  Tabuenca 
and  his  Inventions — Don  Alonso  or  the 
Snake-Man  115 

VII     The  Kermesse  on  Pasion  Street— "The  Dude" 

— A  Cafe  Chantant  134 

VIII  Leandro's  Irresolution — In  La  Blasa's  Tavern 
— The  Man  with  the  Three  Cards — The 
Duel  with.  Valencia  142 

IX    An    Unlikely   Tale— Manuel's    Sisters— Life's 

Baffling  Problems  157 

PART  THREE 

I    Uncle  Patas'  .Domestic  Drama — The  Bakery — 

Karl  the  Baker — The  Society  of  the  Three       171 

II  One  of  the  Many  Disagreeable  Ways  of  Dying 
in  Madrid — The  Orphan — El  Cojo  and  his 
Cave Night  in  the  Observatory  192 

III  Meeting  with  Roberto — Roberto  Narrates  the 

Origin  of  a  Fantastic  Fortune  206 

IV  Dolores  the  Scandalous — Pastiri's  Tricks — Ten- 

der   Savagery — A    Modest    Out-of-the-way 
Robbery  218 

V    Gutter  Vestals— The  Troglodites  238 

VI     Senor    Custodio    and   his    Establishment — The 

Free  Life  248 

VII     Senor  Custodio's  Ideas — La  Justa,  el  Carnicerin 

and  El  Conejo  260 

VIII     The   Square — A  Wedding  in  La  Bombilla — 

The  Asphalt  Caldrons  274 


PART  ONE 


CHAPTER  I 

Preamble — Somewhat  Immoral  Notions  of  a  Boarding- 
House  Keeper — A  Balcony  Is  Heard  Closing — A 
Cricket  Chirps. 

THE  clock  in  the  corridor  had  just  struck 
twelve,  in  a  leisurely,  rhythmic,  decorous 
manner.  It  was  the  habit  of  that  tall  old 
narrow-cased  clock  to  accelerate  or  retard,  after  its 
own  sweet  taste  and  whim,  the  uniform  and  monot- 
onous series  of  hours  that  encircle  our  life  until  it 
wraps  it  and  leaves  it,  like  an  infant  in  its  crib,  in 
the  obscure  bosom  of  time. 

Soon  after  this  friendly  indication  of  the  old 
clock,  uttered  in  a  solemn,  peaceful  voice  becoming 
an  aged  person,  the  hour  of  eleven  rang  out  in  a 
shrill,  grotesque  fashion,  with  juvenile  impertinence, 
from  a  petulant  little  clock  of  the  vicinity,  and  a  few 
minutes  later,  to  add  to  the  confusion  and  the 
chronometric  disorder,  the  bell  of  a  neighbouring 
church  gave  a  single  long,  sonorous  stroke  that 
quivered  for  several  seconds  in  the  silent  at- 
mosphere. 

Which  of  the  three  clocks  was  correct?  Which 
of  those  three  devices  for  the  mensuration  of  time 
was  the  most  exact  in  its  indications? 

The  author  cannot  say,  and  he  regrets  it.  He" 
regrets  it,  because  Time,  according  to  certain  solemn 

3 


4  THE   QUEST 

philosophers,  is  the  canvas  background  against 
which  we  embroider  the  follies  of  our  existence,  and 
truly  it  is4ittl£1&cientific  not  to  be  able  to  indicate  at 
precisely  which  moment  the  canvas  of  this  book 
begins.  But  the  author  does  not  know;  all  he  can 
say  is,  that  at  that  moment  the  steeds  of  night  had 
for  an  appreciable  time  been  coursing  across  the 
heavens.  It  was,  then,  the  hour  of  mystery;  the 
hour  when  wicked  folk  stalk  abroad;  the  hour  in 
which  the  poet  dreams  of  immortality,  rhyming 
hijos  with  prolijos  and  amor  with  dolor;  the  hour 
in  which  the  night-walker  slinks  forth  from  her  lair 
and  the  gambler  enters  his;  the  hour  of  adventures 
that  are  sought  and  never  found;  the  hour,  finally, 
of  the  chaste  virgin's  dreams  and  of  the  venerable 
old  man's  rheumatism.  And  as  this  romantic  hour 
glided  on,  the  shouts  and  songs  and  quarrels  of  the 
street  subsided;  the  lights  in  the  balconies  were 
extinguished;  the  shopkeepers  and  janitors  drew  in 
their  chairs  from  the  gutter  to  surrender  themselves 
to  the  arms  of  sleep. 

In  the  chaste,  pure  dwelling  of  Dona  Casiana  the 
boarding-house  keeper,  idyllic  silence  had  reigned 
for  some  time.  Only  through  the  balcony  windows, 
which  were  wide  open,  came  the  distant  rumbling 
of  carriages  and  the  song  of  a  neighbouring  cricket 
who  scratched  with  disagreeable  persistency  upon 
the  strident  string  of  his  instrument. 

At  the  hour,  whatever  it  was,  that  was  marked 
by  the  twelve  slow,  raucous  snores  of  the  corridor 
clock,  there  were  in  the  house  only  an  old  gentleman, 
— an  impenitent  early-riser;  the  proprietress,  Dona 


PREAMBLE  5 

Casiana, — a  landlady  equally  impenitent,  to  the 
misfortune  of  her  boarders,  and  the  servant  Petra. 

At  this  moment  the  landlady  was  asleep,  seated 
upon  the  rocking-chair  before  the  open  balcony; 
Petra,  in  the  kitchen,  was  likewise  asleep,  with  her 
head  resting  against  the  window-frame,  while  the 
old  early-rising  gentleman  amused  himself  by  cough- 
ing in  bed. 

Petra  had  finished  scouring  and  her  drowsiness, 
the  heat  and  fatigue  had  doubtless  overcome  her. 
She  could  be  made  out  dimly  in  the  light  of  the 
small  lamp  that  hung  by  the  hearth.  She  was  a 
thin,  scrawny  woman,  flat-chested,  with  lean  arms, 
big  red  hands  and  skin  of  greyish  hue.  She  slept 
seated  upon  a  chair  with  her  mouth  open;  her 
breathing  was  short  and  laboured. 

At  the  strokes  of  the  corridor  clock  she  suddenly 
awoke;  she  shut  the  window,  through  which  came 
a  nauseating,  stable-like  odour  from  the  milk-dairy 
on  the  ground-floor;  she  folded  the  clothes  and  left 
with  a  pile  of  dishes,  depositing  them  upon  the 
dining-room  table;  then  she  laid  away  in  a  closet 
the  table-ware,  the  tablecloth  and  the  left-over 
bread;  she  took  down  the  lamp  and  entered  the 
room  in  the  balcony  of  which  the  landlady  sat  sleep- 
ing. 

"Sefiora,  senora!"  she  called,  several  times. 

"Eh?  What  is  it?"  murmured  Dona  Casiana 
drowsily. 

"Perhaps  you  wish  something?" 

"No,  nothing.  Oh,  yes!  Tell  the  baker  to- 
morrow that  I'll  pay  him  the  coming  Monday." 


6  THE   QUEST 

"Very  well.     Good-night." 

The  servant  was  leaving  the  room,  when  the 
balconies  of  the  house  across  the  way  lighted  up. 
They  opened  wide  and  soon  there  came  the  strains 
of  a  tender  prelude  from  a  guitar. 

"Petra!  Petra!"  cried  Dona  Casiana.  "Come 
here.  Eh?  Over  in  that  Isabel's  house.  .  .  . 
You  can  tell  they  have  visitors." 

The  domestic  went  to  the  balcony  and  gazed 
indifferently  at  the  house  opposite. 

"Now  that's  what  pays,"  the  landlady  went  on. 
"Not  this  nasty  boarding-house  business." 

At  this  juncture  there  appeared  in  one  of  the 
balconies  of  the  other  house  a  woman  wrapped  in 
a  flowing  gown,  with  a  red  flower  in  her  hair.  A 
young  man  in  evening  dress,  with  swallow-tail  coat 
and  white  vest,  clasped  her  tightly  about  the  waist. 

"That's  what  pays,"  repeated  the  landlady  sev- 
eral times. 

This  notion  must  have  stirred  her  ill-humour,  for 
she  added  in  an  irritated  voice: 

"Tomorrow  I'll  have  some  plain  words  with  that 
priest  and  those  gadabout  daughters  of  Dona  Vio- 
lante,  and  all  the  rest  who  are  behind  in  their  pay- 
ments. To  think  a  woman  should  have  to  deal  with 
such  a  tribe !  No !  They'll  laugh  no  more  at 
me!  .  .  ." 

Petra,  without  offering  a  reply,  said  good-night 
again  and  left  the  room.  Dona  Casiana  continued 
to  grumble,  then  ensconced  her  rotund  person  in  the 
rocker  and  dozed  off  into  a  dream  about  an  estab- 
lishment of  the  same  type  as  that  across  the  way; 


PREAMBLE  7 

but  a  model  establishment,  with  luxuriously  ap- 
pointed salons,  whither  trooped  in  a  long  procession 
all  the  scrofulous  youths  of  the  clubs  and  fraterni- 
ties, mystic  and  mundane,  in  such  numbers  that  she 
was  compelled  to  install  a  ticket-office  at  the  en- 
trance. 

While  the  landlady  lulled  her  fancy  in  this  sweet 
vision  of  a  brothel  de  luxe,  Petra  entered  a  dingy 
little  room  that  was  cluttered  with  old  furniture. 
She  set  the  light  upon  a  chair,  and  placed  a  greasy 
box  of  matches  on  the  top  of  the  container;  she  read 
for  a  moment  out  of  a  filthy,  begrimed  devotionary 
printed  in  large  type;  she  repeated  several  prayers 
with  her  eyes  raised  to  the  ceiling,  then  began  to 
undress.  The  night  was  stifling;  in  that  hole  the 
heat  was  horrible.  Petra  got  into  bed,  crossed  her- 
self, put  out  the  lamp,  which  smoked  for  a  long  time, 
stretched  herself  out  and  laid  her  head  upon  the 
pillow.  A  worm  in  one  of  the  pieces  of  furniture 
made  the  wood  crack  at  regular  intervals. 

Petra  slept  soundly  for  a  couple  of  hours,  then 
awoke  stifling  from  the  heat.  Somebody  had  just 
opened  the  door  and  footsteps  were  heard  in  the 
entry. 

"That's  Dona  Violante  and  her  daughters,"1 
mumbled  Petra.  "It  must  be  pretty  late." 

The  three  women  were  probably  returning  from 
los  Jardines,  after  having  supped  in  search  of  the 
pesetas  necessary  to  existence.  Luck  must  have 
withheld  its  favour,  for  they  were  in  bad  humour 
and  the  two  young  women  were  quarrelling,  each 
blaming  the  other  for  having  wasted  the  night. 


8  THE   QUEST 

There  were  a  number  of  venomous,  ironic 
phrases,  then  the  dispute  ceased  and  silence  was 
restored.  Petra,  thus  kept  awake,  sank  into  her 
own  thoughts;  again  footfalls  were  heard  in  the 
corridor,  this  time  light  and  rapid.  Then  came 
the  rasping  of  the  shutter-bolt  of  a  balcony  that 
was  being  opened  cautiously. 

"One  of  them  has  got  up,"  thought  Petra. 
"What  can  the  fuss  be  now?" 

In  a  few  minutes  the  voice  of  the  landlady  was 
heard  shouting  imperiously  from  her  room: 

"Irene!  .  .  .  Irene!" 

"Well?" 

"Come  in  from  the  balcony." 

"And  why  do  I  got  to  come  in?"  replied  a  harsh 
voice  in  rough,  ill-pronounced  accents. 

"Because  you  must.  .  .  .  That's  why." 

"Why,  what  am  I  doing  -m  the  balcony?" 

"That's  something  you  know  better  than  I." 

"Well,  I  don't  know." 

"Well,  I  do." 

"I  was  taking  the  fresh  air." 

"I  guess  you're  fresh  enough." 

"You  mean  you  are,  senora." 

"Close  the  balcony.  You  imagine  that  this  house 
is  something  else." 

"I?     What  have  I  done?" 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you.  For  that  sort  of  thing 
there's  the  house  across  the  way,  across  the  way." 

"She  means  Isabel's,"  thought  Petra. 

The  balcony  was  heard  to  shut  suddenly;  steps 
echoed  in  the  entry,  followed  by  the  slamming  of  a 


PREAMBLE  9 

door.  For  a  long  time  the  landlady  continued  her 
grumbling;  soon  came  the  murmuring  of  a  conversa- 
tion carried  on  in  low  tones.  Then  nothing  more 
was  heard  save  the  persistent  shrilling  of  the  neigh- 
bouring cricket,  who  continued  to  scrape  away  at  his 
disagreeable  instrument  with  the  determination  of 
a  beginner  on  the  violin. 


CHAPTER  II 

Dona  Casiana's  House — A  Morning  Ceremony — Conspir- 
acy— Wherein  Is  Discussed  the  Nutritive  Value  of 
Bones — Petra  and  her  Family — Manuel;  his  arrival 
in  Madrid. 

.  .  .  And  the  cricket,  now  like  an  obstinate 
virtuoso,  persisted  in  his  musical  exercises,  which 
were  truly  somewhat  monotonous,  until  the  sky  was 
brightened  by  the  placid  smile  of  dawn.  At  the 
very  first  rays  of  the  sun  the  performer  relented, 
doubtless  content  with  the  perfection  of  his  artistic 
efforts,  and  a  quail  took  up  his  solo,  giving  the  three 
regulation  strokes.  The  watchman  knocked  with 
his  pike  at  the  stores,  one  or  two  bakers  passed  with 
their  bread,  a  shop  was  opened,  then  another,  then 
a  vestibule;  a  servant  threw  some  refuse  out  on  the 
sidewalk,  a  newsboy's  calling  was  heard. 

The  author  would  be  too  bold  if  he  tried  to 
demonstrate  the  mathematical  necessity  imposed 
upon  Dona  Casiana's  house  of  being  situated  on 
Mesonero  Romanos  Street  rather  than  upon  Olivo, 
for,  undoubtedly,  with  the  same  reason  it  might 
have  been  placed  upon  Desengafio,  Tudescos  or 
any  other  thoroughfare.  But  the  duties  of  the 
author,  his  obligation  as  an  impartial  and  veracious 
chronicler  compel  him  to  speak  the  truth,  and  the 

10 


DONA    CASIANA'S   HOUSE     n 

truth  is  that  the  house  was  on  Mesonero  Romanos 
Street  rather  than  on  Olivo. 

At  this  early  hour  not  a  sound  could  be  heard  in- 
side; the  janitor  had  opened  the  vestibule-entrance 
and  was  regarding  the  street  with  a  certain  mel- 
ancholy. 

The  vestibule, — long,  dingy,  and  ill-smelling, — 
was  really  a  narrow  corridor,  at  one  side  of  whrch 
was  the  janitor's  lodge. 

On  passing  tms  lodge,  if  you  glanced  inside, 
where  it  was  encumbered  with  furniture  till  no 
room  was  left,  you  could  always  make  out  a  fat 
woman,  motionless,  very  swarthy,  in  whose  arms 
reposed  a  pale  weakling  of  a  child,  long  and  thin, 
like  a  white  earthworm.  It  seemed  that  above 
the  window,  instead  of  "Janitor"  the  legend 
should  have  read:  "The  Woman-Cannon  and 
her  Child,"  or  some  similar  sign  from  the  circus 
tents. 

If  any  question  were  addressed  to  this  voluminous 
female  she  would  answer  in  a  shrill  voice  accom- 
panied by  a  rather  disagreeable  gesture  of  disdain. 
Leaving  the  den  of  this  woman-cannon  to  one  side, 
you  would  proceed;  at  the  left  of  the  entrance  be- 
gan the  staircase,  always  in  darkness,  with  no  air 
except  what  filtered  in  through  a  few  high,  grated 
windows  that  opened  upon  a  diminutive  courtyard 
with  filthy  walls  punctured  by  round  ventilators. 
For  a  broad,  roomy  nose  endowed  with  a  keen 
pituitary  membrane,  it  would  have  been  a  curious 
sport  to  discover  and  investigate  the  provenience 
and  the  species  of  all  the  vile  odours  comprising  that 


12  THE   QUEST 

fetid  stench,  which  was  an  inalienable  characteristic 
of  the  establishment. 

The  author  never  succeeded  in  making  the 
acquaintance  of  the  persons  living  upon  the  upper 
floors.  He  has  a  vague  notion  that  there  were 
two  or  three  landladies,  a  family  who  let  out  rooms 
to  permanent  gentlemen  boarders,  but  nothing 
else.  Wherefore  the  author  does  not  climb  those 
heights  but  pauses  upon  the  first  landing. 

Here,  at  least  by  day,  could  be  made  out  in  the 
reigning  darkness,  a  tiny  door;  at  night,  on  the 
other  hand,  by  the  light  of  a  kerosene  lantern  one 
could  glimpse  a  tin  door-plate  painted  red,  upon 
which  was  inscribed  in  black  letters:  "Casiana 
Fernandez." 

At  one  side  of  the  door  hung  a  length  of  blackish 
rusted  chain  that  could  be  reached  only  by  standing 
on  tiptoe  and  stretching  out  one's  arm;  but  as  the 
door  was  always  ajar,  the  lodgers  could  come  and 
go  without  the  need  of  knocking. 

This  led  to  the  house.  By  day,  one  was  plunged 
into  utter  obscurity;  the  sole  thing  that  indicated  a 
change  of  place  was  the  smell,  not  so  much  because 
it  was  more  agreeable  than  that  of  the  staircase, 
as  because  it  was  distinct;  on  the  contrary,  at  night, 
in  the  vague  light  shed  by  a  cork  night-taper  afloat 
in  the  water  and  oil  of  a  bowl  that  was  attached  to 
the  wall  by  a  brass  ring,  there  could  be  seen  through 
a  certain  dim  nebulosity,  the  furniture,  the  pictures 
and  the  other  parapn*ernalia  that  occupied  the  recep- 
tion hall. 

Facing  the  entrance  stood  a  broad,  solid  table  on 


DONA    CASIANA'S   HOUSE     13 

which  reposed  an  old-fashioned  music-box  consisting 
of  several  cylinders  that  bristled  with  pins;  close 
beside  it,  a  plaster  statue:  a  begrimed  figure  lacking 
a  nose,  and  difficult  to  distinguish  as  some  god,  half- 
god  or  mortal. 

On  the  wall  of  the  reception  room  and  of  the 
corridor  hung  some  large,  indistinct  oil  paintings. 
A  person  of  intelligence  would  perhaps  have  consid- 
ered them  detestable,  but  the  landlady,  who  imag- 
ined that  a  very  obscure  painting  must  be  very  good, 
refreshed  herself  betimes  with  the  thought  that  may- 
hap these  pictures,  sold  to  an  Englishman,  would 
one  day  make  her  independent. 

There  were  several  canvases  in  which  the  artist 
had  depicted  horrifying  biblical  scenes:  massacres, 
devastation,  revolting  plagues;  but  all  this  in  such 
a  manner,  that,  despite  the  painter's  lavish  distri- 
bution of  blood,  wounds  and  severed  heads,  these 
canvases  instead  of  horrifying,  produced  an  impres- 
sion of  merriment.  One  of  them  represented  the 
daughter  of  Herodias  contemplating  the  head  of  St. 
John  the  Baptist.  Every  figure  expressed  amiable 
joviality:  the  monarch,  with  the  indumcntary  of  a 
card-pack  king  and  in  the  posture  of  a  card-player, 
was  smiling;  his  daughter,  a  florid-faceidame,  was 
smiling;  the  familiars,  encased  in  their  huge  helmets, 
were  smiling,  and  the  very  head  of  St.  John  the 
Baptist  was  smiling  from  its  place  upon  a  repousse 
platter.  Doubtless  the  artist  of  these  paintings,  if 
he  lacked  the  gift  of  design  and  colour,  was  endowed 
with  that  of  joviality. 

To  the  right  and  left  of  the  house  door  ran  the 


14  THE   QUEST 

corridor,  from  whose  walls  hung  another  exhibit 
of  black  canvases,  most  of  them  unframed,  in  which 
could  be  made  out  absolutely  nothing;  only  in  one 
of  them,  after  very  patient  scrutiny,  one  might  guess 
at  a  red  cock  pecking  at  the  leaves  of  a  green  cab- 
bage. 

Upon  this  corridor  opened  the  bedrooms,  in 
which,  until  very  late  in  the  afternoon,  dirty  socks 
and  torn  slippers  were  usually  seen  strewn  upon  the 
floor,  while  on  the  unmade  beds  lay  collars  and 
cuffs. 

Almost  all  the  boarders  in  that  house  got  up  late, 
except  two  travelling  salesmen,  a  bookkeeper  and 
a  priest,  who  arose  early  through  love  of  their 
occupations,  and  an  old  gentleman  who  did  so 
through  habit  or  for  reasons  of  hygiene. 

The  bookkeeper  would  be  off,  without  breakfast, 
at  eight  in  the  morning;  the  priest  left  in  albis  to 
say  mass;  but  the  salesmen  had  the  audacious 
presumption  to  eat  a  bite  in  the  house,  and  the  land- 
lady resorted  to  a  very  simple  procedure  to  send 
them  off  without  so  much  as  a  sip  of  water;  these 
two  agents  began  work  between  half-past  nine  and 
ten;  they  retired  very  late,  bidding  their  landlady 
wake  them  at  eight-thirty.  She  would  see  to  it  that 
they  were  not  aroused  until  ten.  When  they  awoke 
and  saw  the  time,  they  would  jump  out  of  bed, 
hurriedly  dress  and  dash  off  like  a  shot,  cursing  the 
landlady.  Then,  when  the  feminine  element  of 
the  house  gave  signs  of  life,  every  nook  would  echo 
with  cries,  discordant  voices,  conversations  shouted 
from  one  bedchamber  to  another,  and  out  of  the 


DONA    CASIANA'S   HOUSE     15 

rooms,  their  hands  armed  with  the  night-service, 
would  come  the  landlady,  one  of  Dona  Violante's 
daughters,  a  tall,  obese  Biscayan  Lady,  and  another 
woman  whom  they  called  the  Baroness. 

The  landlady  invariably  wore  a  corset-cover  of 
yellow  flannel,  the  Baroness  a  wrapper  mottled  with 
stains  from  cosmetics  and  the  Biscayan  lady  a  red 
waist  through  whose  opening  was  regularly 
presented,  for  the  admiration  of  those  who  hap- 
pened along  the  corridor,  a  huge  white  udder 
streaked  with  coarse  blue  veins. 

After  this  matutinal  ceremony,  and  not  infre- 
qently  during  the  same,  complaints,  disputes,  gossip 
and  strife  would  arise,  providing  tid-bits  for  the 
remaining  hours. 

On  the  day  following  the  scrape  between  the 
landlady  and  Irene,  when  the  latter  returned 
to  her  room  after  having  fulfilled  her  mission, 
a  secret  conclave  was  held  by  those  who  re- 
mained. 

"Don't  you  know?  Didn't  you  hear  anything 
last  night?"  asked  the  Biscayan. 

"No,"  replied  the  landlady  and  the  Baroness. 
"What  happened?" 

"Irene  smuggled  a  man  into  the  house  last  night." 

"She  did?" 

"I  heard  her  talking  to  him  myself." 

"And  he  must  have  opened  the  street  door! 
The  dog!"  muttered  the  landlady. 

"No;  the  man  came  from  this  tenement." 

"One  of  the  students  from  upstairs,"  offered  the 
Baroness. 


16  THEQUEST 

"I'll  tell  a  thing  or  two  to  the  rascally  fellow," 
replied  Dona  Casiana. 

"No.  Take  your  time,"  answered  the  Biscayan. 
"We're  going  to  give  her  and  her  gallant  a  fright. 
If  he  comes  tonight,  while  they're  talking,  we'll  tell 
the  watchman  to  knock  at  the  house  door,  and  at 
the  same  time  we'll  all  come  out  of  our  rooms  with 
lights,  as  if  we  were  going  to  the  dining-room,  and 
catch  them." 

While  this  plot  was  being  hatched  in  the  corridor, 
Petra  was  preparing  breakfast  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  kitchen.  There  was  very  little  to  prepare,  for 
the  meal  invariably  consisted  of  a  fried  egg,  which 
never  by  any  accident  was  large,  and  a  beefsteak, 
which,  in  memories  reverting  to  the  remotest  epoch, 
had  not  a  single  time  by  any  exception  been  soft. 

At  noon,  the  Biscayan,  in  tones  of  deep  mystery, 
told  Petra  about  the  conspiracy,  but  the  maid-of- 
all-work  was  in  no  mood  for  jests  that  day.  She 
had  just  received  a  letter  that  filled  her  with  wor- 
riment.  -Her  brother-in-law  wrote  her  that  Man- 
uel, the  eldest  of  Petra's  children,  was  being  sent  to 
Madrid.  No  lucid  explanation  of  the  reason  for 
this  decision  was  given.  The  letter  stated  simply 
that  back  there  in  the  village  the  boy  was  only  wast- 
ing his  time,  and  that  it  would  be  better  for  him  to 
go  to  Madrid  and  learn  a  trade. 

This  letter  had  set  Petra  thinking.  After  wiping 
the  dishes,  she  washed  herself  in  the  kneeding- 
trough;  she  could  not  shake  the  fixed  idea  that  if 
her  brother-in-law  was  sending  Manuel  to  her  it 
was  because  the  boy  had  been  up  to  some  mischief. 


DORA    CASIANA'S   HOUSE     17 

She  would  soon  find  out,  for  he  was  due  to  arrive 
that  night. 

Petra  had  four  children,  two  boys  and  two  girls: 
the  girls  were  well  placed;  the  elder  as  a  maid,  with 
some  very  wealthy  religious  ladies,  the  younger  in 
a  government  official's  home. 

The  boys  gave  her  more  bother;  the  younger  not 
so  much,  since,  as  they  said,  he  continued  to  reveal 
a  steady  nature.  The  elder,  however,  was  rebel- 
lious and  intractable. 

"He  doesn't  take  after  me,"  thought  Petra.  "In 
fact,  he's  quite  like  my  husband." 

And  this  disquieted  her.  Her  husband,  Manuel 
Alcazar,  had  been  an  energetic,  powerful  man,  and, 
towards  his  last  days,  harsh-tempered  r.nd  brutal. 

He  was  a  locomotive  machinist  and  earned  good 
pay.  Petra  and  he  could  not  get  along  together 
and  the  couple  were  always  at  blows. 

Folks  and  friends  alike  blamed  Alcazar  the  ma- 
chinist for  everything,  as  if  the  systematic  contrari- 
ness of  Petra,  who  seemed  to  enjoy  nagging  the  man, 
were  not  enough  to  exasperate  any  one.  Petra  had 
always  been  that  way, — wilful,  behind  the  mask 
of  humility,  and  as  obstinate  as  a  mule.  As  long 
as  she  could  do  as  she  pleased  the  rest  mattered 
little. 

While  the  machinist  was  alive,  the  family's  eco- 
nomic situation  had  been  relatively  comfortable. 
Alcazar  and'  Petra  paid  sixteen  duros  per  month 
for  their  rooms  on  Relojo  street,  and  took  in 
boarders:  a  mail  clerk  and  other  railroad  em- 
ployes. 


i8  THE   QUEST 

Their  domestic  existence  might  have  been  peace- 
ful and  pleasureful  were  it  not  for  the  daily  alterca- 
tions between  husband  and  wife.  They  had  both 
come  to  feel  such  a  need  for  quarrelling  that  the 
most  insignificant  cause  would  lead  to  scandalous 
scenes.  It  was  enough  that  he  said  white  for  her 
to  cry  black;  this  opposition  infuriated  the  machinist, 
who  would  throw  the  dishes  about,  belabour  his 
wife,  and  smash  all  the  household  furniture.  Then 
Petra,  satisfied  that  she  had  sufficient  cause  for 
affliction,  shut  herself  in  her  room  to  weep  and 
pray. 

What  with  his  alcohol,  his  fits  of  temper,  and 
his  hard  work,  the  machinist  went  about  half  dazed; 
on  one  terribly  hot  day  in  August  he  fell  from  the 
train  on  to  the  roadbed  and  was  found  dead  with- 
out a  wound. 

Petra,  disregarding  the  advice  of  her  boarders, 
insisted  upon  changing  residence,  as  she  disliked 
that  section  of  the  city.  This  she  did,  taking  in 
new  lodgers — unreliable,  indigent  folk  who  ran  up 
large  bills  or  never  paid  at  all — and  in  a  short  time 
she  found  herself  compelled  to  sell  her  furniture 
and  abandon  her  new  house. 

Then  she  hired  out  her  daughters  as  servants, 
sent  her  two  boys  off  to  a  little  town  in  the  prov- 
ince of  Soria,  where  her  brother-in-law  was  the 
superintendent  of  a  small  railway  station,  and  her- 
self entered  as  a  domestic  in  Dona  Casiana's 
lodging-house.  Thus  she  descended  from  mistress 
to  servant,  without  complaint.  It  was  enough  that 
the  idea  had  occurred  to  her;  therefore  it  was  best. 


DONA    CASIANA'S   HOUSE     19 

She  had  been  there  for  two  years,  saving  her  pay. 
Her  ambition  was  to  have  her  sons  study  in  a 
seminary  and  graduate  as  priests.  And  now  came 
the  return  of  Manuel,  the  elder  son,  to  upset  her 
plans.  What  could  have  happened? 

She  made  various  conjectures.  In  the  meantime 
with  her  deformed  hands  she  removed  the  lodgers' 
dirty  laundry.  In  through  the  courtyard  window 
wafted  a  confusion  of  songs  and  disputing  voices, 
alternating  with  the  screech  of  the  clothes-line  pul- 
leys. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Petra  began  prepa- 
ration for  dinner.  The  mistress  ordered  every 
morning  a  huge  quantity  o*f  bones  for  the  sustenance 
of  her  boarders.  It  is  very  possible  that  there  was, 
in  all  that  heap  of  bones,  a  Christian  one  from  ^^Vl 
time  to  time;  certainly,  whether  they~came  from 
carnivorous  animals  or  from  ruminants,  there  was 
rarely  on  those  tibiae,  humeri,  and  femora  a  tiny 
scrap  of  meat.  The  ossuary  boiled  away  in  the 
huge  pot  with  beans  that  had  been  tempered  with 
bicarbonate,  and  with  the  broth  was  made  the  soup, 
which,  thanks  to  its  quantity  of  fat,  seemed  like 
some  turbid  concoction  for  cleaning  glassware  or 
polishing  gilt. 

After  inspecting  the  state  of  the  ossuary  in  the 
stew-pot,  Petra  made  the  soup,  and  then  set  about 
extracting  all  the  scrap  meat  from  the  bones  and 
covering  them  hypocritically  with  a  tomato  sauce. 
This  was  the  piece  de  resistance  in  Dona  Casiana's 
establishment. 

Thanks   to   this  hygienic  regimen,   none   of  the 


20  THEQUEST 

boarders  fell  ill  with  obesity,  gout  or  any  of  those 
other  ailments  due  to  excess  of  food  and  so  frequent 
in  the  rich. 

After  preparing  the  meal  and  serving  it,  Petra 
postponed  the  dish-washing,  and  left  the  house  to 
meet  her  son. 

Night  had  not  yet  fallen.  The  sky  was  vaguely 
red,  the  air  stifling,  heavy  with  a  dense  mist  of  dust 
and  steam.  Petra  went  up  Carretas  Street,  con- 
tinued through  Atocha,  entered  the  Estacion  del 
Mediodia  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  to  wait  for 
Manuel.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  the  boy  was  approaching  the  city 
half  asleep,  half  asphyxiated,  in  a  third-class  com- 
partment. 

He  had  taken  the  train  the  night  before  at  the 
railway  station  where  his  uncle  was  superintendent. 
On  reaching  Almazan,  he  had  to  wait  more  than  an 
hour  for  a  mixed  train,  so  he  sauntered  through  the 
deserted  streets  to  kill  time. 

To  Manuel,  Almazan  seemed  vast,  infinitely  sad; 
the  town,  glimpsed  through  the  gloom  of  a  dimly 
starlit  night,  loomed  like  a  great,  fariVstic,  dead 
city.  The  pale  electric  lights  shone  upon  Its  narrow 
streets  and  low  houses;  the  spacious  plaza  with  its  • 
arc  lights  was  deserted;  the  belfry  of  a  church  rose 
into  the  heavens. 

Manuel  strolled  down  towards  the  river.  From 
the  bridge  the  town  seemed  more  fantastic  and  mys- 
terious than  ever;  upon  a  wall  might  be  made  out 
the  galleries  of  a  palace,  and  several  lofty,  sombre 
towers  shot  up  from  amidst  the  jumbled  dwellings 


DONA    C  A  SI  ANA'S   HOUSE    21 

of  the  town;  a  strip  of  moon  gleamed  close  to  the 
horizon,  and  the  river,  divided  by  a  few  islets  into 
arms,  glittered  as  if  it  were  mercury. 

Manuel  left  Almazan  and  had  to  wait  a  few  hours 
in  Alcuneza  for  the  next  train.  He  was  weary,  and 
as  there  were  no  benches  in  the  station,  he  stretched 
himself  out  upon  the  floor  amidst  bundles  and  skins 
of  oil. 

At  dawn  he  boarded  the  other  train,  and  despite 
the  hardness  of  the  seat,  managed  to  fall  asleep. 

Manuel  had  been  two  years  with  his  relatives; 
he  departed  from  their  home  with  more  satisfaction 
than  regret. 

JLife  had  held  no  pleasure  for  him  during  those   V 
two  years. 

The  tiny  station  presided  over  by  his  uncle  was 
near  a  poor  hamlet  surrounded  by  arid,  stony  tracts 
upon  which  grew  neither  tree  nor  bush.  A  Siberian 
temperature  reigned  in  those  parts,  but  the  inclemen- 
cies of  Nature  were  nothing  to  bother  a  little  boy, 
and  gave  Manuel  not  the  slighest  concern. 

The  worst  of  it  all  was  that  neither  his  uncle  nor 
his  uncle's  wife  showed  any  affection  for  him,  rather 
indifference,  and  this  indifference  prepared  the  boy 
to  receive  their  few  benefactions  with  utter  coldness. 

It  was  different  with  Manuel's  brother,  to  whom 
the  couple  gradually  took  a  liking. 

The  two  youngsters  displayed  traits  almost  ab- 
solutely opposite ;  the  elder,  Manuel,  was  of  a  frivo- 
lous, slothful,  indolent  disposition,  and  would  neither 
study  nor  go  to  school.  He  was  fond  of  romping 
about  the  fields  and  engaging  in  bold,  dangerous  X 


22  THEQUEST 

escapades.     The  characteristic  trait  of  Juan,   the 
•N^   younger  brother,  was  a  morbid  sentimentalism  that 
would  overflow  in  tears  upon  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion. 

Manuel  recalled  that  the  school  master  and  town 
organist,  an  old  fellow  who  was  half  dominie  and 
taught  the  two  brothers  Latin,  had  always  prophe- 
sied that  Juan  would  make  his  mark;  Manuel  he 
X  considered  as  an  adventure-seeking  rover  who  would 
come  to  a  bad  end. 

As  Manuel  dozed  in  the  third-class  compartment, 
a  thousand  recollections  thronged  his  imagination: 
the  events  of  the  night  before  at  his  uncle's  mingled 
in  his  mind  with  fleeting  impressions  of  Madrid 
already  half  forgotten.  One  by  one  the  sensations 
of  distinct  epochs  intertwined  themselves  in  his 
memory,  without  rhyme  or  reason  and  among  them, 
in  the  phantasmagoria  of  near  and  distant  images 
that  rolled  past  his  inner  vision,  there  stood  out 
clearly  those  sombre  towers  glimpsed  by  night  in 
Almazan  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  .  .  . 

When  one  of  his  travelling  companions  announced 
that  they  had  already  reached  Madrid,  Manuel  was 
:  5  filled  with  genuine  anxiety.  A  red  dusk  flushed  the 
sky,  which  was  streaked  with  blood  like  some  mon- 
ster's eye;  the  train  gradually  slackened  speed;  it 
glided  through  squalid  suburbs  and  past  wretched 
houses;  by  this  time,  the  electric  lights  were  gleam- 
ing pallidly  above  the  high  signal  lanterns.  .  .  . 

The  train  rolled  on  between  long  lines  of  coaches, 
the  round-tables  trembled  with  an  iron  rumble,  and 


DONA   CASIANA'S  HOUSE    23 

the  Estacion  del  Mediodia,  illuminated  by  arc  lamps, 
came  into  view. 

The  travellers  got  out;  Manuel  descended  with 
his  little  bundle  of  clothes  in  his  hand,  looked  in 
every  direction  for  a  glimpse  of  his  mother  and 
could  not  make  her  out  anywhere  on  the  wide  plat- 
form. For  a  moment  he  was  confused,  then  de- 
cided to  follow  the  throng  that  was  hurrying  with 
bundles  and  bird-cages  toward  a  gate;  he  was  asked 
for  his  ticket,  he  stopped  to  go  through  his  pockets, 
found  it  and  issued  into  the  street  between  two  rows 
of  porters  who  were  yelling  the  names  of  hotels. 

"Manuel!     Where  are  you  going?" 

There  was  his  mother.  Petra  had  meant  to  be 
severe;  but  at  the  sight  of  her  son  she  forgot  her 
severity  and  embraced  him  effusively. 

"But — what  happened?"  Petra  asked  at  once. 

"Nothing." 

"Then — why  have  you  come?" 

"They  asked  me  whether  I  wanted  to  stay  there 
or  go  to  Madrid,  and  I  said  I'd  rather  go  to 
Madrid." 

"Nothing  more?" 

"Nothing  more,"  replied  Manuel  simply. 

"And  Juan?     Was  he  studying?" 

"Yes.  Much  more  than  I  was.  Is  the  house 
far  off,  Mother?" 

"Yes,  Why?     Are  you  hungry?" 

"I  should  say.     I  haven't  had  a  bite  all  the  way." 

They  left  the  Station  at  the  Prado;  then  they 
walked  up  Alcala  street.  A  dusty  mist  quivered 


24  THEQUEST 

in  the  air;  the  street-lamp  shone  opaquely  in  the 
turbid  atmosphere.  ...  As  soon  as  they  reached 
the  house  Petra  made  supper  for  Manuel  and  pre- 
pared a  bed  for  him  upon  the  floor,  beside  her  own. 
The  youth  lay  down,  but  so  violent  was  the  con- 
trast between  the  hamlet's  silence  and  the  racket 
of  footsteps,  conversations  and  cries  that  resounded 
through  the  house,  that,  despite  his  weariness, 
Manuel  could  not  sleep. 

He  heard  every  lodger  come  in;  it  was  past  mid- 
night when  the  disturbance  quieted  down;  suddenly 
a  squabble  burst  out  followed  by  a  crash  of  laughter 
which  ended  in  a  triply  blasphemous  imprecation 
and  a  slap  that  woke  the  echoes. 

"What  can  that  be,  Mother?"  asked  Manuel  from 
his  bed. 

"That's  Dona  Violante's  daughter  whom  they've 
caught  with  her  sweetheart,"  Petra  answered,  half 
from  her  sleep.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  it 
was  imprudent  to  tell  this  to  her  boy,  and  she 
added,  gruffly: 

"Shut  up  and  go  to  sleep." 

The  music-box  in  the  reception-room,  set  going 
by  the  hand  of  one  of  the  boarders,  commenced  to 
tinkle  that  sentimental  air  from  La  Mascotte, — 
the  duet  between  Pippo  and  Bettina: 

Will  you  forget  me,  gentle  swain? 
Then  all  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  III 

First    Impressions    of    Madrid — The    Boarders — Idyll— 
Sweet  and  Delightful  Lessons. 

MANUEL'S  mother  had  a  relation,  her  hus- 
band's cousin,  who  was  a  cobbler.  Petra 
had  decided,  some  days  previously,  to  give 
Manuel  into  apprenticeship  at  the  shoe-shop;  but 
she  still  hoped  the  boy  would  be  convinced  that  it 
was  better  for  him  to  study  something  than  to  learn 
a  trade,  and  this  hope  had  deterred  her  from  the 
resolution  to  send  the  boy  to  her  relative's  house. 

Persuading  the  landlady  to  permit  Manuel  to 
remain  in  the  house  cost  Petra  no  little  labour,  but  at 
last  she  succeeded.  It  was  agreed  that  the  boy 
would  run  errands  and  help  to  serve  meals.  Then 
when  the  vacation,  season  had  passed,  he  would 
resume  his  studies. 

On  the  day  following  his  arrival  the  youngster  as- 
sisted his  mother  at  the  table. 

All  the  borders,  except  the  Baroness  and  her 
girl,  were  seated  in  the  dining-room,  presided  over 
by  the  landlady  with  her  wrinkle-fretted,  parch- 
ment-hued  face  and  its  thirty-odd  moles. 

The  dining-room,  a  long,  narrow  habitation  with 
a  window  opening  on  the  courtyard,  communicated 
with  two  narrow  corridors  that  switched  off  at 

2S 


26  THEQUEST 

right  angles ;  facing  the  window  stood  a  dark  walnut 
sideboard  whose  shelves  were  laden  with  porcelain, 
glassware  and  cups  and  glasses  in  a  row.  The 
centre  table  was  so  large  for  such  a  small  room 
that  when  the  boarders  were  seated  it  scarcely  left 
space  for  passage  at  the  ends. 

The  yellow  wall-paper,  torn  in  many  spots,  dis- 
played, at  intervals,  grimy  circles  from  the  oil  of  the 
lodgers'  hair;  reclining  in  their  seats  they  would  rest 
the  back  of  the  chairs  and  their  heads  against  the 
wall. 

The  furniture,  the  straw  chairs,  the  paintings, 
the  mat  full  of  holes, — everything  in  that  room  was 
filthy,  as  if  the  dust  of  many  years  had  settled  upon 
the  articles  and  clung  to  the  sweat  of  several  genera- 
tions of  lodgers. 

By  day  the  dining-room  was  dark;  by  night  it 
was  lighted  by  a  flickering  kerosene  lamp  that 
smudged  the  ceiling  with  smoke. 

The  first  time  that  Manuel,  following  his  mother's 
instructions,  served  at  table,  the  landlady,  as  usual, 
Y.  presided.  At  her  right  sat  an  old  gentleman  of 
cadaverous  aspect, — a  very  fastidious  personage  who 
conscientiously  wiped  the  glasses  and  plates  with 
his  napkin.  By  his  side  this  gentleman  had  a  vial 
and  a  dropper,  and  before  eating  he  would  drop 
/  his  medicine  into  the  wine.  To  the  left  of  the  land- 
lady rose  the  Biscayan,  a  tall,  stout  woman  of  bestial 
appearance,  with  a  huge  nose,  thick  lips  and  flaming 
cheeks;  next  to  this  lady,  as  flat  as  a  toad,  was 
Dona  Violante,  whom  the  boarders  jestingly  called 
now  Dona  Violent  and  now  Dona  Violated. 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     27 

Near  Dona  Violante  were  grouped  her  daughters; 
then  a  priest  who  prattled  incessantly,  a  journalist 
whom  they  called  the  Superman, — a  very  fair  youth, 
exceedingly  thin  and  exceedingly  serious, — the  sales- 
men and  the  bookkeeper. 

Manuel  served  the  soup  and  all  the  boarders  took 
it,  sipping  it  with  a  disagreeable  inhalation.     Then, 
according  to  his  mother's  orders,  the  youngster  re- 
mained standing  there.     Now  followed  the  beans 
which,  if  npt  for  their  size  then  for  their  hardness   / 
might  have  figured  in  an  artillery  park,  and  one  of  / 
the   boarders   permitted   himself   some   pleasantry  / 
about  the  edibleness  of  so  petreous  a  vegetable;  a 
pleasantry  that  glided  over  the  impassive  counte- 
nance of  Dona  Casiana  without  leaving  the  slightest 
trace. 

Manuel  sat  about  observing  the  boarders.  It 
was  the  day  after  the  conspiracy;  Dona  Violante  and 
her  daughters  were  incommunicative  and  in  ugly 
humour.  Dona  Violante's  inflated  face  at  every 
moment  creased  into  a  frown,  and  her  restless,  tur- 
bid eyes  betrayed  deep  preoccupation.  Celia,  the  X 
elder  of  the  daughters,  annoyed  by  the  priest's  jests, 
began  to  answer  violently,  cursing  everything  human 
and  divine  with  a  desperate,  picturesque,  raging 
hatred,  which  caused  loud,  universal  laughter. 
Irene,  the  culprit  of  the  previous  night's  scandal,  a 
girl  of  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  with  a  broad 
head,  large  hands  and  feet,  an  as  yet  incompletely 
developed  body  and  heavy,  ungainly  movements, 
spoke  scarcely  a  word  and  kept  her  gaze  fixed  upon 
her  plate. 


28  THEQUEST 

The  meal  at  an  end,  the  lodgers  went  off  to  their 
various  tasks.  At  night  Manuel  served  supper  with- 
out dropping  a  thing  or  making  a  single  mistake, 
but  in  five  or  six  days  he  was  forever  doing  things 
wrong. 

It  is  impossible  to  judge  how  much  of  anlmpres- 
sion  was  made  upon  the  boy  by  the  usage  and 
customs  of  the  boarding  roost  and  the  species  of 
birds  that  inhabited  it;  but  they  could  not  have 
impressed  him  much.  Manuel,  while  he  served  at 
table  in  the  days  that  followed,  had  to  put  up  with 
anfc(  endless  succession  of  remarks,  jests  and  practical 
jokes. 

A  thousand  incidents,  comical  enough  to  one  who 
did  not  have  to  suffer  them,  turned  up  at  every  step; 
now  they  would  discover  tobacco  in  the  soup,  now 
coal,  ashes,  and  shreds  of  coloured  paper  in  the 
water-bottle. 

One  of  the  salesmen,  who  was  troubled  with  his 
stomach  and  spent  his  days  gazing  at  the  reflection 
of  his  tongue  in  the  mirror,  would  jump  up  in  fury 
when  one  of  these  jokes  was  perpetrated,  and  ask 
the  proprietress  to  discharge  an  incompetent  booby 
who  committed  such  atrocities. 

Manuel  grew  accustomed  to  these  manifestations 
against  his  humble  person,  and  when  they  scolded 
him  he  retorted  with  the  most  bare-faced  impudence 
and  indifference. 

Soon  he  learned  the  life  and  miracles  of  every 
boarder  and  was  ready  to  talk  back  in  outrageous 
fashion  if  they  tried  his  patience. 

Dona   Violante  and  her   daughters, — especially 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     29 

the  old  lady,  showed  a  great  liking  for  the  boy.  The 
three  women  had  now  been  living  in  the  house  for 
several  months;  they  paid  little  and  when  they 
couldn't  pay  at  all,  they  didn't.  But  they  were 
easily  satisfied.  All  three  occupied  an  inner  room 
that  opened  onto  the  courtyard,  whence  came  a 
nauseating  odour  of  fermented  milk  that  escaped 
from  the  stable  of  the  ground  floor. 

The  hole  in  which  they  lived  was  not  large  enough 
to  move  about  in;  the  room  assigned  to  them  by  the 
landlady — in  proportion  to  the  size  of  their  rent 
and  the  insecurity  of  the  payment — was  a  dark  den 
occupied  by  two  narrow  iron  beds,  between  which,  in 
the  little  space  left,  was  crammed  a  cot. 

Here  slept  these  gallant  dames;  by  day  they 
scoured  all  Madrid,  and  spent  their  existence  mak- 
ing arrangements  with  money-lenders,  pawning  arti- 
cles and  taking  them  out  of  pawn. 

The  two  young  ladies,  Celia  and  Irene,  although 
they  were  mother  and  daughter,  passed  for  sisters. 
Dona  Violante,  in  her  better  days,  had  led  the  life 
of  a  petty  courtesan  and  had  succeeded  in  hoarding 
up  a  tidy  bit  as  provision  against  the  winter  of 
old  age,  when  a  former  patron  convinced  her  that 
he  had  a  remarkable  combination  for  winning  a  for- 
tune at  the  Fronton.  Dona  Violante  fell  into  the 
trap  and  her  patron  left  her  without  a  centime. 
Then  Dona  Violante  went  back  to  the  old  life,  be-) 
came  half  blind  and  reached  that  lamentable  state  \ 
at  which  surely  she  would  have  arrived  much  sooner 
if,  early  in  her  career,  she  had  developed  a  talent 
for  living  respectably. 


30  THE   QUEST 

The  old  lady  passed  most  of  the  day  in  the  con- 
finement of  her  dark  room,  which  reeked  of  stable 
odors,  rice  powder  and  cosmetics;  at  night  she  had 
to  accompany  her  daughter  and  her  granddaughter 
on  walks,  and  to  cafes  and  theatres,  on  the  hunt  and 
capture  of  the  kid,  as  it  was  put  by  the  travelling 
salesman  who  suffered  from  his  stomach, — a  fellow 
half  humorist  and  half  grouch.  When  they  were  in 
the  house  Celia  and  Irene,  the  daughter  and  the 
granddaughter  of  Dona  Violante,  kept  bickering  at 
all  hours;  perhaps  this  continuous  state  of  irritation 
derived  from  the  close  quarters  in  which  they  lived; 
perhaps  so  much  passing  as  sisters  in  the  eyes  of 
others  had  convinced  them  that  they  really  were,  so 
that  they  quarrelled  and  insulted  one  another  as  such. 

The  one  point  on  which  they  agreed  was  that  Dona 
Violante  was  in  their  way;  the  burden  of  the  blind 
woman  frightened  away  every  libidinous  old  fellow 
that  came  within  the  range  of  Irene  and  Celia. 

The  landlady,  Dona  Casiana,  who  at  the  slightest 
occasion  suspected  the  abandonment  of  the  blind  old 
woman,  admonished  the  two  maternally  to  gird 
themselves  with  patience;  Dona  Violante,  after  all, 
was  not,  like  Calypso,  immortal.  But  they  replied 
that  this  toiling  away  at  full  speed  just  to  keep  the 
old  lady  in  medicine  and  syrups  wasn't  at  all  to  their 
taste. 

Dona  Casiana  shook  her  head  sadly,  for  her  age 
and  circumstances  enabled  her  to  put  herself  in  Dona 
Violante's  place,  and  she  argued  with  this  example, 
asking  them  to  put  themselves  in  the  grandmother's 
position;  but  neither  was  convinced. 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     31 

Then  the  landlady  advised  them  to  peer  into  her 
mirror.  She — as  she  assured  them — had  descended 
from  the  heights  of  the  Comandancia  (her  husband 
had  been  a  commander  of  the  carbineers)  to  the 
wretchedness  of  running  a  boarding-house,  yet  she 
was  resigned,  and  her  lips  curled  in  a  stoic  smile. 

Dona  Casiana  knew  the  meaning  of  resignation    Jc 
and  her  only  solace  in  this  life  was  a  few  volumes 
of  novels  in  serial  form,  two  or  three  feuilletons, 
and  a  murky  liquid  mysteriously  concocted  by  her 
own  hands  out  of  sugared  water  and  alcohol. 

This  beverage  she  poured  into  a  square,  wide- 
mouthed  flask,  into  which  she  placed  a  thick  stem 
of  anis.  She  kept  it  in  the  closet  of  her  bedroom. 
Some  one  who  discovered  the  flask  with  its  black 
twig  of  anis  compared  it  to  those  bottles  in  which 
fetuses  and  similar  nasty  objects  are  preserved,  and 
since  that  time,  whenever  the  landlady  appeared 
with  rosy  cheeks,  a  thousand  comments — not  at  all 
favourable  to  the  madame's  abstinence — ran  from 
lodger  to  lodger. 

"Dona  Casiana's  tipsy  from  her  fetus-brandy." 
"The  good  lady  drinks  too  much  of  that  fetus." 
"The  fetus  has  gone  to  her  head.  .  .  ." 
Manuel  took  a  friendly  part  in  this  witty  merri- 
ment of  the  boarders.    The  boy's  faculties  of  adapta-    * 
tion  were  indisputably  enormous,  for  after  a  week 
in  the  landlady's  house  it  was  as  if  he  had  always 
lived  there. 

His  skill  at  magic  was  sharpened:  whenever  he   X 
was  needed  he  was  not  to  be  seen  and  no  sooner  was 
anybody's  back  turned  than  he  was  in  the  street 


32  THEQUEST 

playing    with    the    bays    of    the    neighbourhood. 

As  a  result  of  his  games  and  his  scrapes  he  got 
his  clothes  so  dirty  and  torn  that  the  landlady  nick- 
named him  the  page  Don  Rompe-Galas,  recalling  a 
tattered  character  from  a  sainete  that  Dona  Casi- 
ana,  according  to  her  affirmations,  had  seen  played 
in  her  halycon  days. 

Generally,  those  who  jnost  .made  use  of  Manuel's 
services  were  the  journalist  whom  they  called  the 
Superman — he  sent  the  boy  off  with  copy  to  the 
printers — -and  Celia  and  Irene,  who  employed  him 
for  bearing  notes  and  requests  for  money  to  their 
friends.  Dona  Violante,  whenever  she  pilfered  a 
few  centimes  from  her  daughter  would  dispatch 
Manuel  to  the  store  for  a  package  of  cigarettes, 
and  give  him  a  cigar  for  the  errand. 

"Smoke  it  here,"  she  would  say.  "Nobody'll 
see  you." 

Manuel  would  sit  down  upon  a  trunk  and  the 
old  lady,  a  cigarette  in  her  mouth  and  blowing  smoke 
through  her  nostrils,  would  recount  adventures  from 
the  days  of  her  glory. 

That  room  of  Dona  Violante  and  her  daughters 
was  a  haunt  of  infection;  from  the  hooks  nailed  to 
the  wall  hung  dirty  rags,  and  between  the  lack  of 
air  and  the  medley  of  odours  a  stench  arose  strong 
enough  to  fell  an  ox. 

Manuel  listened  to  Dona  Violante's  stories  with 
genuine  delight.  The  old  lady  was  at  her  best  in 
her  commentaries. 

"I  tell  you,  my  boy,"  she  would  say,  "you  can  take 
my  word  for  it.  A  woman  with  a  good  pair  of 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     33 

breasts  and  who  happens  to  be  a  pretty  warm  article" 
— and  here  the  old  lady  pulled  at  her  cigarette  and 
with  an  expressive  gesture  indicated  what  she  meant 
by  her  no  less  expressive  word — "will  always  have 
a  trail  of  men  after  her." 

Dona  Violante  used  to  sing  songs  from  Spanish 
zarzuelas  and  from  French  operettas,  which  pro- 
duced in  Manuel  a  terrible  sadness.  He  could  not 
say  why,  but  they  gave  him  the  impression  of  a 
world  of  pleasures  that  was  hopelessly  beyond  his 
reach.  When  he  heard  Dona  Violante  sing  the 
song  from  El  Juramento 

Disdain  is  a  sword  with  a  double  edge, 

One  slays  with  love,  the  other  with  forgetfulnesi  .  .  . 

he  had  a  vision  of  salons,  ladies,  amorous  intrigues; 
but  even  more  than  by  this  he  was  overwhelmed  with 
sadness  by  the  waltzes  from  La  Diva  and  La  Grande 
'Duchesse. 

Dona  Violante's  reflexions  opened  Manuel's  eyes; 
the  scenes  that  occurred  daily  in  the  house,  however, 
worked  quite  as  much  as  these  toward  such  a  result. 

Another  good  instructor  was  found  in  the  person 
of  Dona  Casiana's  niece,  a  trifle  older  than  Manuel,    V 
— a  thin,  weakly  chit  of  such  a  malicious  nature  that 
she  was  always  hatching  plots  against  somebody. 

If  any  one  struck  her  she  didn't  shed  a  tear;  she 
would  go  down  to  the  concierge's  lodge  when  the 
concierge's  little  boy  was  left  alone,  would  grab 
him  and  pinch  him  and  kick  him,  in  this  manner 
wreaking  vengeance  for  the  blows  she  had  received. 

After  eating,  almost  all  of  the  boarders  went  off 


34  THEQUEST 

to  their  affairs;  Celia  and  Irene,  together  with  the 
Biscayan,  indulged  in  a  grand  frolic  by  spying  upon 
the  women  in  Isabel's  house,  who  would  come  out  on 
the  balcony  and  chat,  or  signal  to  the  neighbours.  At 
times  these  miserable  brothel  odalisques  were  not 
content  with  speaking;  they  would  dance  and  exhibit 
their  calves. 

Manuel's  mother,  as  always,  would  be  meditating 
upon  heaven  and  hell,  giving  little  heed  to-  the  petti- 
ness of  this  earth,  and  she  could  not  shield  her  son 
from  such  edifying  spectacles.  Petra's  educational 
•  system  consisted  only  of  giving  Manuel  an  occasional 
blow  and  of  making  him  read  prayer-books. 

Petra  imagined  that  she  could  see  the  traits  of 
the  machinist  showing  up  in  the  boy,  and  this 
troubled  her.  She  wished  Manuel  to  be  like  her, 
— humble  toward  his  superiors,  respectful  toward 
the  priests  .  .  .  ;  but  a  fine  place  this  was  for  learn- 
ing to  respect  anything! 

One  morning,  after  the  solemn  ceremony  had  been 
celebrated  in  which  all  the  women  of  the  house  issued 
into  the  corridor  swinging  their  night  service,  there 
burst  from  Dona  Violante's  room  a  clamour  of 
shouts,  weeping,  stamping  and  vociferation. 

The  landlady,  the  Biscayan  and  several  of  the 
boarders  tiptoed  into  the  corridor  to  pry.  Inside 
the  quarrellers  must  have  realized  that  they  were 
being  spied  upon,  for  they  opened  the  door  and 
the  fray  continued  in  low  tones. 

Manuel  and  the  landlady's  niece  remained  in  the 
entry.  They  could  hear  Irene's  sobbing  and  the 
scolding  voices  of  Celia  and  Dona  Violante. 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     35 

At  first  they  could  not  make  out  what  was  being 
said;  but  soon  the  three  women  forgot  their  deter- 
mination to  speak  low  and  their  voices  rose  in  anger. 

"Go  I  Go  to  the  House  of  Mercy  and  have  them 
rid  you  of  that  swelling!  Wretch  I"  cried  Celia. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  retorted  Irene.  "I'm  caught, 
ami?  I  know  it.  What  of  it?" 

Dona  Violante  opened  the  door  to  the  entry 
furiously;  Manuel  and  the  landlady's  niece  scam- 
pered off,  and  the  old  lady  came  out  in  a  patched 
flannel  shift  and  a  weed  kerchief  tied  about  her  ears, 
and  began  to  pace  to  and  fro,  dragging  her  worn-out 
shoes  from  end  to  end  of  the  corridor. 

"The  sow!  Worse  than  a  sow!"  she  muttered. 
"Did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  filthy  creature !" 

Manuel  went  off  to  the  parlour,  where  the  land- 
lady and  the  Biscayan  were  chatting  in  low  tones. 
The  landlady's  niece,  dying  with  curiosity,  ques- 
tioned the  two  women  with  growing  irritation : 

"But  why  are  they  scolding  Irene?" 

The  landlady  and  the  Biscayan  exchanged  amic- 
able glances  and  burst  into  laughtert 

"Tell  me,"  cried  the  child  insistently,  clutching 
at  her  aunt's  kerchief.  "What  of  it  if  she  has  that 
bundle?  Who  gave  her  that  package?" 

The  landlady  and  the  Biscayan  could  no  longer 
restrain  their  guffaws,  while  the  little  girl  stared 
avidly  up  at  them,  trying  to  make  out  the  meaning 
of  what  she  heard. 

"Who  gave  her  that  package?"  repeated  the  Bis- 
cayan between  outbursts.  "My  dear  little  girl,  we 
really  don't  know  who  gave  her  that  package." 


36  THE   QUEST 

All  the  boarders  repeated  the  niece's  question 
with  enthusiastic  delight,  and  at  every  table  dis- 
cussion some  wag  would  be  sure  to  interrupt  sud- 
denly with : 

"Now  I  see  that  you  know  who  gave  her  that 
package."  The  remark  would  be  greeted  with  up- 
roarious merriment. 

Then,  after  a  few  days  had  passed,  there  was 
rumour  of  a  mysterious  consultation  held  by  Dona 
Violante's  daughters  with  the  wife  of  a  barber  on 
Jardines  street, — a  sort  of  provider  of  little  angels 
for  limbo;  it  was  said  that  Irene  returned  from  the 
conference  in  a  coach,  very  pale,  and  that  she  had 
to  be  put  at  once  to  bed.  Certainly  the  girl  did  not 
leave  her  room  few  more  than  a  week  and,  when 
she  appeared,  she  looked  like  a  convalescent  and 
the  frowns  had  disappeared  completely  from  the 
face  of  her  mother  and  her  grandmother. 

"She  looks  like  an  infanticide,"  said  the  priest 
when  he  saw  her  again,  "but  she's  prettier  than 
ever." 

Whether  any  transgression  had  been  committed, 
none  could  say  with  surety;  soon  everything  was  for- 
gotten; a  patron  appeared  for  the  girl,  and  he  was, 
from  all  appearances,  wealthy.  In  commemora- 
tion of  so  happy  an  event  the  boarders  participated 
in  the  treat.  After  the  supper  they  drank  cognac 
and  brandy,  the  priest  played  the  guitar,  Irene 
danced  sevillanas  with  less  grace  than  a  bricklayer, 
as  the  landlady  said;  the  Superman  sang  some  fados 
that  he  had  learned  in  Portugal,  and  the  Biscayan, 
not  to  be  outdone,  burst  forth  into  some  malaguenas 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   MADRID     37 

that  might  just  as  well  have  been  a  cante  flamenco 
or  the  Psalms  of  David. 

Only  the  blond  student  with  the  eyes  of  steel  ab- 
stained from  the  celebration;  he  was  absorbed  in 
his  thoughts. 

"And  you,  Roberto,"  Celia  said  to  him  several 
times, — "don't  you  sing  or  do  anything?" 

"Not  I,"  he  replied  coldly. 

"You  haven't  any  blood  in  your  veins." 

The  youth  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  shrugged  X 
his  shoulders  indifferently  and  his  pale  lips  traced 
a  smile  of  disdainful  mockery. 

Then,  as  almost  always  happened  in  these  board- 
ing-house sprees,  some  wag  turned  on  the  music-box 
in  the  corridor  and  the  duet  from  La  Mascotte  to- 
gether with  the  waltz  from  La  Diva  rose  in  con- 
fusion upon  the  air;  the  Superman  and  Celia  danced 
a  couple  of  waltzes  and  the  party  wound  up  with 
everybody  singing  a  habanera,  until  they  wearied 
and  each  owl  flew  off  to  his  nest. 


211615 


CHAPTER  IV 

Oh,  love,  love!— What's  Don  Telmo  Doing?— Who  is  Don 
Telmo  ? — Wherein  the  Student  and  Don  Telmo  Assume 
Certain  Novelesque  Proportions. 

THE  Baroness  was  hardly  ever  seen  in  the 
house,  except  during  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning  and  the  night.     She  dined  and 
supped  outside.     If  the  landlady  was  to  be  credited, 
she  was  an  adventuress  whose  position  varied  con- 
siderably, for  one  day  she  would  be  moving  to  a 
costly  apartment  and  sporting  a  carriage,  while  the 
next  she  would  disappear   for  several  months  in 
the  germ-ridden  hole  of  some  cheap  boarding-house. 

The  Baroness's  daughter,  a  child  of  some  twelve 
or  fourteen  years,  never  appeared  in  the  dining- 
room  or  in  the  corridor;  her  mother  forbade  all 
communication  with  the  lodgers.  Her  name  was 
Kate.  She  was  a  fair  girl,  very  light-complexioned 
and  exceedingly  winsome.  Only  the  student  Roberto 
spoke  to  her  now  and  then  in  English. 

The  youth  was  enthusiastic  over  her. 

That  summer  the  Baroness's  streak  of  bad  luck 
must  have  come  to  an  end,  for  she  began  to  make 
herself  some  fine  clothes  and  prepared  to  move. 

For  several  weeks  a  modiste  and  her  assistant 
came  daily,  with  gowns  and  hats  for  the  Baroness 
and  Kate. 

38 


OH,    LOVE,    LOVE!  39 

Manuel,  one  night,  saw  the  modiste's  assistant  go 
by  with  a  huge  box  in  her  hand  and  was  smitten. 

He  followed  her  at  a  distance  in  great  fear  lest 
she  see  him.  As  he  stole  on  behind,  he  wondered 
what  he  could  say  to  such  a  maiden  if  he  were  to 
accompany  her.  It  must  be  something  gallant, 
exquisite;  he  even  imagined  that  she  was  at  his  side 
and  he  racked  his  brain  for  beautiful  phrases  and 
delicate  compliments,  yet  nothing  but  commonplaces 
rewarded  his  search.  In  the  meantime  the  assistant 
and  her  box  were  lost  in  the  crowd  and  he  could  not 
catch  sight  of  them  again. 

The  memory  of  that  maiden  was  for  Manuel  as 
an  enchanting  music,  a  fancy  upon  which  were  reared 
still  wilder  fancies.  Often  he  made  up  tales  in 
which  always  he  figured  as  the  hero  and  the  assistant 
as  the  heroine.  While  Manuel  bemoaned  the  harsh- 
ness of  fate,  Roberto,  the  blond  student,  gave  himself 
up  likewise  to  melancholy,  brooding  upon  the  Baron- 
ess's daughter.  The  student  was  forced  to  endure 
jests  especially  from  Celia,  who,  according  to  certain 
evil  tongues,  was  trying  to  rouse  him  from  his 
habitual  frigidity.  But  Roberto  gave  her  no  heed. 

Some  days  later  the  house  was  agog  with  curiosity. 

As  the  boarders  came  in  from  the  street,  they 
greeted  each  other  jokingly,  repeating  in  the  manner 
of  a  pass-word:  "Who  is  Don  Telmo?  What's 
Don  Telmo  doing?" 

One  day  the  district  police-commissioner  came  and 
spoke  to  Don  Telmo,  and  some  one  heard  or  in- 
vented the  report  that  the  two  men  were  discussing 
the  notorious  crime  on  Malasana  Street.  Upon 


40  THEQUEST 

hearing  this  news  the  expectant  inquisitiveness  of 
the  boarders  waxed  great,  and  all,  half  in  jest  and 
half  in  earnest,  arranged  to  keep  a  watch  upon  the 
mysterious  gentleman. 

Don  Telmo  was  the  name  of  the  cadaver- 
ous old  fellow  who  wiped  his  cups  and  spoons  with 
his  napkin,  and  his  reserved  manner  seemed 
to  invite  observation.  Taciturn,  indifferent,  never 
joining  the  conversation,  a  man  of  few  words  who 
never  made  any  complaints,  he  attracted  attention 
by  the  very  fact  that  he  seemed  intent  upon  not 
attracting  it. 

His  only  visible  occupation  was  to  wind  the  seven 
or  eight  clocks  of  the  house  and  to  regulate  them 
when  they  got  out  of  order, — an  event  of  common 
occurrence. 

Don  Telmo  had  the  features  of  a  very  sad  man, 

— one  in  profound  sorrow.     His  livid  countenance 

•\/    .     betrayed  fathomless  dejection.     He  wore  his  white 

beard  and  his  hair  short;  his  brows  fell  like  brushes 

over  his  grey  eyes. 

In  the  house  he  went  around  wrapped  in  a  faded 
coat,  with  a  Greek  bonnet  and  cloth  slippers. 
When  he  went  out  he  donned  a  long  frock  coat  and 
a  very  tall  silk  hat;  only  on  certain  summer  days 
would  he  wear  a  Havana  hat  of  woven  straw. 

For  more  than  a  month  Don  Telmo  was  the  topic 
of  conversation  in  the  boarding-house. 

In  the  famous  trial  of  the  Malasana  Street  crime 
a  servant  declared  that  one  afternoon  she  saw  Dona 
Celsa's  son  in  an  aqueduct  of  the  Plaza  de  Oriente, 


OH,   LOVE,   LOVE!  41 

talking  with  a  lame  old  man.  For  the  guests  this 
man  could  be  none  other  than  Don  Telmo.  With 
this  suspicion  they  set  about  spying  upon  the 
old  man;  he,  however,  had  a  sharp  scent  and  sniffed 
the  state  of  affairs  at  once;  the  boarders,  seeing  how 
bootless  their  attempts  were  proving,  tried  to  ran- 
sack his  room ;  they  used  a  number  of  keys  until  they 
got  the  door  open  and  when  they  had  forced  an 
entrance,  discovered  nothing  more  that  a  closet 
fastened  by  a  formidable  safety-lock. 

The  Biscayan  and  Roberto,  the  blond  student, 
opposed  this  campaign  of  espionage.  The  Super- 
man, the  priest,  the  salesmen  and  the  women  of 
the  establishment  made  up  that  the  Biscayan  and 
the  student  were  allies  of  Don  Telmo,  and,  in  all 
probability,  accomplices  in  the  Malasana  Street 
crime. 

"Without  a  doubt,"  averred  the  Superman,  "Don 
Telmo  killed  Dona  Celsa  Nebot;  the  Biscayan 
poured  oil  over  the  body  and  set  it  afire,  and 
Roberto  hid  the  jewels  in  the  house  on  Amaniel 
Street." 

"That  cold  bird!"  replied  Celia.  "What  could 
he  do?" 

"Nothing,  nothing.  We  must  keep  on  their 
track,"  said  the  curate. 

"And  get  some  money  out  of  that  old  Shylock," 
added  the  Superman. 

This  espionage,  carried  on  half  in  joke  and  half 
in  all  seriousness,  wound  up  in  debates  and  disputes, 
and  as  a  result  two  groups  were  formed  in  the 


42  THEQUEST 

house;  that  of  the  Sensible  folk,  comprised  by  the 
three  criminals  and  the  landlady,  and  that  of  the 
Foolish,  in  which  were  enrolled  all  the  rest. 

This  limitation  of  sides  forced  Roberto  and  Don 
Telmo  into  intimacy,  so  that  the  student  changed 
his  place  at  the  table  and  sat  next  to  the  old  man. 

One  night,  after  eating,  while  Manuel  was  remov- 
ing the  service,  the  plates  and  the  cups,  Don  Telmo 
and  Roberto  were  engaged  in  conversation^ 

The  student  was  a  dogmatic  reasoned;  dry,  rec- 
tilinear, never  swerving  from  his  point  of  view;  he 
spoke  but  little,  but  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  in  a 
sententious  manner. 

One  day,  discussing  whether  or  not  young  men 
should  be  ambitious  and  look  to  the  future,  Roberto 
asserted  that  the  first  was  the  proper  course. 

"Well,  that  isn't  what  you're  doing,"  commented 
the  Superman. 

W  "I  am  absolutely  convinced,"  replied  Roberto, 
"that  some  day  I'm  going  to  be  a  millionaire.  I 
am  engaged  in  constructing  the  machinery  that  will 
bring  me  a  fortune." 

The  Superman  posed  as  a  man  of  the  world  who 
had  seen  many  things;  upon  hearing  this  he  per- 
mitted himself  a  scoffing  remark  concerning  Ro- 
berto's ability,  and  the  youth  retorted  in  so  violent 
and  aggressive  a  manner  that  the  journalist  lost  his 
composure  and  blurted  out  a  string  of  apologies. 

Afterwards,  when  Don  Telmo  and  Roberto  were 
left  alone  at  the  table,  they  continued  talking,  and 
from  the  general  theme  as  to  whether  young  folk 
should  or  should  not  be  ambitious,  they  passed  on 


OH,    LOVE,   LOVE  !  43 

to  the  student's  hopes  of  some  day  being  a  million- 
aire. 

"I'm  convinced  that  I  shall  be  one,"  said  the  boy. 
"In  my  family  there  have  been  a  number  of  indi- 
viduals with  great  luck." 

"That's  all  very  well,  Roberto,"  muttered  the 
old  man.  "But  one  must  know  how  to  become 
wealthy." 

"Don't  imagine  that  my  hope  is  illusory;  I'm  go- 
ing to  inherit,  and  not  a  small  amount,  either;  I'm 
heir  to  a  vast  sum  .  .  .  millions.  .  .  .  The  founda- 
tions of  my  work  and  the  framework  are  already 
completed;  all  I  need  now  is  money." 

Don  Telmo's  countenance  was  crossed  by  an  ex- 
pression of  disagreeable  surprise. 

"Don't  worry,"  replied  Roberto,  "I'm  not  going 
to  ask  you  for  it." 

"My  dear  boy,  if  I  had  it,  I'd  give  it  to  you  with 
pleasure,  and  free  of  interest.  They  think  I'm  a 
millionaire." 

"No.  I  tell  you  I'm  not  trying  to  get  a  centime 
from  you.  All  I  ask  is  a  bit  of  advice." 

"Speak,  then,  speak.  I'm  all  attention,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  resting  an  elbow  upon  the 
table. 

Manuel,  who  was  taking  off  the  tablecloth,  cocked 
his  ears. 

At  that  juncture  one  of  the  salesmen  entered  the 
dining-room,  and  Roberto,  who  was  about  to  say 
something,  grew  silent  and  looked  impertinently  at 
the  intruder.     The  student  was  an  aristocratic  type  X 
with  blond  hair,  thick  and  combed  back,  and  mous- 


44  THE   QUEST 

tache  of  glittering  white,  like  silver;  his  skin  was 
somewhat  tanned  by  the  sun. 

"Won't  you  continue?"  asked  Don  Telmo. 

"No,"  answered  the  student,  staring  at  the  sales- 
man. "For  I  don't  want  anybody  to  hear  what  I 
have  to  say." 

"Come  to  my  room,  then,"  replied  Don  Telmo. 
"There  we  can  talk  undisturbed.  We'll  have  cof- 
fee up  in  my  room.  Manuel !"  he  ordered.  "Bring 
us  two  coffees." 

Manuel,  who  was  deeply  interested  in  discovering 
what  the  student  had  to  say,  dashed  out  into  the 
street  on  his  errand.  He  was  more  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  returning  with  the  coffee,  and  sup- 
posed that  Roberto  by  this  time  had  finished  his 
story. 

He  knocked  at  Don  Telmo's  door  and  was  re- 
solved to  linger  there  as  long  as  possible,  that  he 
might  catch  all  he  could  of  the  conversation.  He 
began  to  dust  Don  Telmo's  lamp-table  with  a  cloth. 

"And  how  did  you  ascertain  that,"  Don  Telmo 
was  asking,  vif  your  family  didn't  know  it?" 

"Quite  by  accident,"  answered  the  student.  "A 
couple  of  years  ago,  about  this  time  of  the  year,  I 
wished  to  give  a  present  to  a  sister,  who  is  a  pro- 
tegee of  mine,  and  who  is  very  fond  of  playing  the 
piano.  It  occurred  to  me,  three  days  before  her 
birthday,  to  purchase  two  operas,  have  them  bound 
and  send  them  to  her.  I  wanted  to  have  the  book 
bound  immediately,  but  at  the  shops  they  told  me 
there  was  no  time;  I  was*  walking  along  with  my 
operas  under  my  arm  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Plaza  de 


OH,    LOVE,   LOVE  !  45 

las  Descalzas  when  in  the  back  wall  of  a  convent 
I  caught  sight  of  a  tiny  bookbinder's  shop, — like  a 
cave  with  steps  leading  down.  I  asked  the  man, — 
a  gnarled  old  fellow, —  whether  he  would  bind  the 
book  for  me  in  a  couple  of  days,  and  he  said  'Yes/ 
'Very  well,'  I  told  him,  'then  I'll  call  within  two 
days.' —  'I'll  send  it  to  you ;  let  me  have  your  ad- 
dress.' I  gave  him  my  address  and  he  asked  my 
name.  'Roberto  Hasting  y  Nunez  de  Letona.' —  X 
'Are  you  a  Nunez  de  Latona?'  he  inquired,  gazing 
at  me  curiously.  'Yes,  sir.' —  'Do  you  come  from 
la  Rioja?' —  'Yes,  and  suppose  I  do?'  I  re- 
torted, provoked  by  all  this  questioning.  And  the 
binder,  whose  mother  was  a  Nunez  de  Latona  and 
came  from  la  Rioja,  told  me  the  story  I've  just 
told  you.  At  first  I  took  it  all  as  a  joke;  then, 
after  some  time,  I  wrote  to  my  mother,  and  she 
wrote  back  that  everything  was  quite  so,  and  that 
she  recalled  something  of  the  whole  matter." 

Don  Telmo's  gaze  strayed  over  toward  Manuel. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  snarled.  "Get 
out;  I  don't  want  you  going  around  telling 
tales.  .  .  ." 

"I'm  no  tattle-tale." 

"Very  well,  then,  get  a  move  on." 

Manuel  went  out,  and  Don  Telmo  and  Roberto 
continued  their  conversation.  The  boarders  show- 
ered Manuel  with  questions,  but  he  refused  to  open 
his  mouth.  He  had  decided  to  join  the  group  of 
the  Sensible  ones. 

This  friendship  between  the  old  man  and  the 
student  served  as  an  incitement  for  the  continua- 


46  THE   QUEST 

tion  of  the  espionage.  One  of  the  salesmen  learned 
that  Don  Telmo  drew  up  contracts  of  sales  on  re- 
version and  made  a  living  by  lending  money  on 
houses  and  furniture,  and  at  other  such  usurious 
business. 

Some  one  saw  him  in  the  Rastro  in  an  old  clothes 
shop  that  probably  belonged  to  him,  and  invented 
the  tale  that  he  had  gold  coins  concealed  in  his  room 
and  that  he  played  with  them  at  night  upon  the 
bed. 

It  was  also  discovered  that  Don  Telmo  frequently 
paid  visits  to  a  very  elegant,  good  looking  young 
lady,  who  was,  according  to  some,  his  sweetheart, 
and  to  others,  his  niece. 

On  the  following  Sunday  Manuel  overheard  a 
conversation  between  the  old  man  and  the  student. 
In  a  dark  room  there  was  a  transom  that  opened 
into  Don  Telmo's  room,  and  from  this  position  he 
played  the  eavesdropper. 

"So  he  refuses  to  furnish  any  more  data?"  Don 
Telmo  was  asking. 

"Absolutely,"  said  the  student.  "And  he  assures 
me  that  the  reason  for  the  name  of  Fermin  de 
Nunez  de  Latona  not  appearing  in  the  parish  regis- 
ter was — forgery;  that  this  was  effected  by  a  cer- 
tain Shaphter,  one  of  Bandon's  agents,  and  that 
afterwards  the  curates  took  advantage  of  it  to  ac- 
quire possession  of  some  chaplaincies.  I  am  cer- 
tain that  the  town  where  Fermin  Nunez  was  born 
was  either  Arnedo  or  Autol." 

Don  Telmo  carefully  inspected  a  large  folio  docu- 
ment: the  genealogy  of  Roberto's  family. 


OH,  LOVE,  LOVE!  47 

"What  course  do  you  think  I  ought  to  pursue?" 
asked  the  student. 

"You  need  money;  but  it's  so  hard  to  find  that!" 
muttered  the  old  man.  "Why  don't  you  marry?" 

"And  what  good  would  that  do?" 

"I  mean  some  wealthy  woman.  .  .  ." 

Here  Don  Telmo  lowered  his  voice  to  an  inaudi- 
ble pitch  and  after  a  few  words  they  separated. 

The  espionage  of  the  boarders  became  so  obstruc- 
tive to  the  men  spied  upon  that  the  Biscayan  and 
Don  Telmo  served  notice  on  the  landlady  of  their 
removal.  Dona  Casiana's  desolation,  when  she 
learned  of  their  decision,  was  exceedingly  great; 
several  times  she  had  to  resort  to  the  closet  and  sur- 
render herself  to  the  consolations  of  the  beverage 
of  her  own  concoction. 

The  boarders  were  so  disappointed  at  the  flight 
of  the  Biscayan  and  of  Don  Telmo  that  neither 
the  altercations  between  Irene  and  Celia  nor  the 
stories  told  by  the  priest  Don  Jacinto,  who  stressed 
the  smutty  note,  were  potent  enough  to  draw  them 
from  their  silence. 

The  bookkeeper,  a  jaundiced  fellow  with  an 
emaciated  face  and  a  beard  like  that  of  a  monu- 
mental Jew,  exceedingly  taciturn  and  timid,  had 
burst  into  speech  in  his  excitement  over  the  intrigues 
invented  and  fancied  in  the  life  of  Don  Telmo;  now 
he  became  from  moment  to  moment  sallower  than 
ever  with  his  hypochondria. 

Don  Telmo's  departure  was  paid  for  by  the  stu- 
dent and  Don  Manuel.  As  far  as  the  student  was 
concerned  they  dared  no  more  than  twit  him  on  his 


48  THE   QUEST 

complicity  with  the  old  man  and  the  Biscayan;  at 
Manuel,  however,  they  all  kept  screeching  and 
scolding  when  they  weren't  kicking  him. 

One  of  the  salesmen, — the  fellow  who  was 
troubled  with  his  stomach,  exasperated  by  the  bore- 
dom, the  heat  and  his  uncertain  digestion,  found  no 
other  distraction  than  insulting  and  berating  Manuel 
while  he  served  at  table,  whether  or  not  there  were 
cause. 

"Go  on,  you  cheap  fool  I"  he  would  say.  "You're 
not  worth  the  food  you  eat!  Clown!" 

This  refrain,  added  to  others  of  the  same  tenor, 
began  to  weary  Manuel.  One  day  the  salesman 
heaped  the  insults  and  the  vilification  upon  him  more 
plentifully  than  ever.  They  had  sent  the  boy  out 
for  two  coffees,  and  he  was  slow  in  returning;  on 
that  particular  day  the  delay  was  not  due  to  any 
fault  of  his,  for  he  had  been  kept  waiting  a  long 
time. 

"They  ought  to  put  a  pack-saddle  on  you,  you 
ass!"  shouted  the  agent  as  Manuel  entered. 

"You  won't  be  the  one  to  do  it!"  retorted  the 
boy  impudently,  as  he  placed  the  cups  upon  the  table. 

"I  won't?     Do  you  want  to  see  me?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

The  salesman  got  up  and  kicked  Manuel  in  the 
shins;  the  poor  boy  saw  stars.  He  gave  a  cry  of 
pain  and  then,  furious,  seized  a  plate  and  sent  it  fly- 
ing at  the  agent's  head;  the  latter  ducked  and  the 
projectile  crossed  the  dining-room,  crashed  through 
a  window  pane  and  fell  into  the  courtyard,  where 
it  smashed  with  a  racket.  The  salesman  grabbed 


OH,    LOVE,    LOVE  !  49 

one  of  the  coffee-pots  that  was  filled  with  coffee  and 
milk  and  hurled  it  at  Manuel  with  such  good  aim 
that  it  struck  the  boy  in  the  face ;  the  youth,  blinded 
with  rage  and  by  the  coffee  and  milk,  rushed  upon 
his  enemy,  cornered  him,  and  took  revenge  for  the 
insults  and  blows  with  an  endless  succession  of  kicks 
and  punches. 

"He's  killing  me!  He's  killing  me!"  shrieked 
the  agent  in  feminine  wails. 

"Thief !  Clown !"  shouted  Manuel,  employing  the 
street's  choicest  repertory  of  insults. 

The  Superman  and  the  priest  seized  Manuel  by 
the  arms,  leaving  him  at  the  mercy  of  the  salesman, 
who,  beholding  the  boy  thus  corralled,  tried  to 
wreak  vengeance;  but  when  he  was  ready  to  strike, 
Manuel  gave  him  such  a  forceful  kick  in  the  stomach 
that  the  fellow  vomited  up  his  whole  meal. 

Everybody  took  sides  against  Manuel,  except 
Roberto,  who  defended  him.  The  agent  retired 
to  his  room,  summoned  the  landlady,  and  told  her 
that  he  refused  to  remain  another  moment  as  long 
as  Petra's  son  was  in  the  house. 

The  landlady,  whose  chief  interest  was  to  retain 
her  boarder,  communicated  her  decision  to  her 
servant. 

"Now  see  what  you've  done.  You  can't  stay  here 
any  longer,"  said  Petra  to  her  son. 

"All  right.  That  clown  will  pay  for  these,"  re- 
plied the  boy,  nursing  the  welts  on  his  forehead.  "I 
tell  you,  if  I  ever  meet  him  I'm  going  to  smash  in 
his  head." 

"You  take  good  care  not  to  say  a  word  to  him." 


50  THEQUEST 

At  this  moment  the  student  happened  to  enter 
the  dining-room. 

"You  did  well,  Manuel,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to 
Petra.  "What  right  had  that  blockhead  to  insult 
him?  In  this  place  every  boss  has  a  right  to  at- 
tack his  neighbour  if  he  doesn't  do  as  all  the  others 
wish.  What  a  cowardly  gang!" 

As  he  spoke,  Roberto  blanched  with  rage;  then 
he  grew  calm  and  asked  Petra : 

"Where  are  you  going  to  take  Manuel  now?" 

"To  a  cobbler's  shop  that  belongs  to  a  relative  of 
mine  on  Aguila  street." 

"Is  it  in  the  poorer  quarters  ?"     ' 

"Yes." 

"I'll  come  to  see  you  some  day." 

Before  Manuel  had  gone  to  bed,  Roberto  ap- 
peared again  in  the  dining-room. 

"Listen,"  he  said  to  Manuel.  "If  you  know  any 
strange  place  in  the  slums  where  criminals  get  to- 
gether, let  me  hear.  I'll  go  with  you." 

"I'll  let  you  know,  never  you  mind." 

"Fine.     See  you   again.     Good-bye  I" 

Roberto  extended  his  hand  to  Manuel,  who 
pressed  it  with  deep  gratitude., 


CHAPTER  I 

The  Regeneration  of  Footwear  and  The  Lion  of  The  Shoe- 
maker's Art — The  First  Sunday — An  Escapade — El 
Bizco  and  his  Gang. 

THE  inhabitant  of  Madrid  who  at  times  )( 
finds  himself  by  accident  in  the  poor  quar- 
ters near  the  Manzanares  river,  is  sur- 
prised at  the  spectafcle  of  poverty  and  sordidness, 
of  sadness  and  neglect  presented  by  the  environs 
of  Madrid  with  their  wretched  Rondas,  laden  with 
dust  in  the  summer  and  in  winter  wallowing  in  mire. 
The  capital  is  a  city  of  contrasts;  it  presents  bril- 
liant light  in  close  proximity  to  deep  gloom;  re- 
fined life,  almost  European,  in  the  centre;  in  the 
suburbs,  African  existence,  like  that  of  an  Arab 
village.  Some  years  ago,  not  many,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Ronda  de  Sevilla  and  of  el  Campillo  de  Gil 
Imon,  there  stood  a  house  of  suspicious  aspect  and 
of  not  very  favourable  repute,  to  judge  by  popular 
rumour.  The  observer  .  .  . 

In  this  and  other  paragraphs  of  the  same  style  I 
had  placed  some  hope,  for  they  imparted  to  my  novel  X 
a  certain  phantasmagoric  and  mysterious  atmos- 
phere ;  but  my  friends  have  convinced  me  I  ought  to 
suppress  these  passages,  arguing  that  they  would 
be  quite  in  place  in  a  Parisian  novel,  but  not  in 

S3 


54  THE  QUEST 

one  dealing  with  Madrid, — not  at  all.  They  add, 
moreover,  that  here  nobody  goes  astray,  not  even 
if  one  wishes  to.  Neither  are  there  here  any  ob- 
servers, nor  houses  of  suspicious  aspect,  nor  any- 
thing else.  In  resignation,  then,  I  have  excised 
these  paragraphs,  through  which  I  hoped  some 
day  to  be  elected  to  the  Spanish  Academy;  and  so 
I  continue  my  tale  in  more  pedestrian  language. 

It  came  about,  then,  that  on  the  day  following  the 
row  in  the  dining-room  of  the  lodging-house,  Petra, 
very  early  in  the  morning,  woke  Manuel  and  told  him 
to  dress. 

The  boy  recalled  the  scene  of  the  previous  day; 
he  verified  it  by  raising  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  for 
the  bruises  still  pained  him,  and  from  his  mother's 
tone  he  understood  that  she  persisted  in  her  resolve 
to  take  him  to  the  cobbler's. 

After  Manuel  had  dressed,  mother  and  son  left 
the  house  and  went  into  the  bun-shop  for  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  milk.  Then  they  walked  down  to  Arenal 
Street,  crossed  the  Plaza  del  Oriente,  and  the  Via- 
duct, thence  through  Rosario  Street.  Continuing 
along  the  walls  of  a  barracks  they  reached  the 
heights  at  whose  base  runs  the  Ronda  de  Segovfa. 
From  this  eminence  there  was  a  view  of  the  yellow- 
ish countryside  that  reached  as  far  as  Jetafe  and 
Villaverde,  and  the  San  Isidro  cemeteries  with  their 
grey  mudwalls  and  their  black  cypresses. 

From  the  Ronda  de  Segovia,  which  they  covered 
in  a  short  time,  they  climbed  up  Aguila  Street,  and 
paused  before  a  house  at  the  corner  of  the  Campillo 
de  Gil  Imon. 


THE   REGENERATION         55 

There  were  two  shoe  shops  opposite  one  an- 
other and  both  closed.  Manuel's  mother,  who  could 
not  recall  which  was  her  relative's  place,  inquired 
at  the  tavern. 

"Senor  Ignacio's  over  at  the  big  house,"  answered 
the  tavern-keeper.  "I  think  the  cobbler's  come  al- 
ready, but  he  hasn't  opened  the  shop  yet." 

Mother  and  son  had  to  wait  until  the  shop  was 
opened.  The  building  was  not  the  tiny,  evil-boding 
one,  but  it  looked  as  if  it  had  an  atrocious  desire  to 
cave  in,  for  here  and  there  it,  too,  showed  cracks, 
holes  and  all  manner  of  disfigurements.  It  had  a 
lower  and  upper  floor,  large  and  wide  balconies  the 
balustrades  of  which  were  gnawed  by  rust  and  the 
diminutive  panes  of  glass  held  in  place  by  leaden 
strips. 

On  the  ground  floor  of  the  house,  in  the  part  that 
faced  Aguila  Street,  there  was  a  livery-stable,  a 
carpenter's  shop,  a  tavern  and  the  cobbler's  shop 
owned  by  Petra's  relation.  This  establishment  dis- 
played over  the  entrance  a  sign  that  read: 

For  The  Regeneration  of  Footwear. 

The  historian  of  the  future  will  surely  find  in 
this  sign  proof  of  how  widespread,  during  several 
epochs,  was  a  certain  notion  of  national  regenera- 
tion, and  it  will  not  surprise  him  that  this  idea,  which 
was  launched  in  the  aim  to  reform  and  regenerate 
the  Constitution  and  the  Spanish  people,  came  to  an 
end  upon  the  signboard  of  a  shop  on  a  foresaken 
corner  of  the  slums,  where  the  only  thing  done  was 


56  THEQUEST 

the    reformation    and    regeneration    of    footwear. 

We  will  not  deny  the  influence  of  this  regenerating 
theory  upon  the  proprietor  of  the  establishment 
For  The  Regeneration  of  Footwear;  but  we  must 
point  out  that  this  presumptuous  legend  was  put  up 
in  token  of  his  defiance  of  the  cobbler  across  the 
way,  and  we  must  register  likewise  that  it  had  been 
answered  by  another,  and,  even  more  presump- 
tuous, one. 

One  fine  morning  the  workmen  in  the  establish- 
ment for  The  Regeneration  of  Footwear  were  dum- 
founded  to  find  staring  them  in  the  face  the  sign  of 
the  rival  shop.  It  was  a  beautiful  signboard  about 
two  metres  long,  bearing  this  inscription: 

The  Lion  of  the  Shoemaker's  Art 

This  in  itself  was  quite  tolerable;  the  terrible, 
annihilating  thing  about  it  was  the  painting  that 
sprawled  over  the  middle  of  the  board.  A  hand- 
some yellow  lion  with  the  face  of  a  man  and  with 
wavy  mane,  standing  erect;  in  his  front  paws  he 
held  a  boot,  apparently  of  patent-leather.  Be- 
neath this  representation  was  printed  the  following: 
You  may  break,  but  never  unstitch  it. 

This  was  a  crushing  motto:  A  lion  (wild  beast) 
trying  to  unseam  the  boot  made  by  the  Lion  (shoe- 
maker), and  powerless  before  the  task!  What  a 
humiliation  for  the  lion!  What  a  triumph  for  the 
shoemaker!  The  lion,  in  this  case,  was  For  The 
Regeneration  of  Footwear,  which,  as  the  saying 
goes,  had  been  compelled  to  bite  the  dust. 


THE   REGENERATION        57 

In  addition  to  Senor  Ignacio's  sign  there  was,  in 
one  of  the  balconies  of  the  large  house,  the  bust  of 
a  woman,  made  probably  of  pasteboard,  with  letter- 
ing beneath:  Per  feet  a  Ruiz:  Ladies'  Hair  Dress- 
ing; on  the  side  walls  of  the  main  entrance  there 
hung  several  announcements  unworthy  of  occupying 
the  attention  of  the  aforementioned  historian,  in 
which  were  offered  low-priced  rooms  with  or  with- 
out bed,  amanuenses  and  seamstresses.  A  single 
card,  upon  which  were  pasted  horizontally,  vertically 
and  obliquely  a  number  of  cut-out  figures,  deserved 
to  go  down  in  history  for  its  laconicism.  It  read: 

Parisian  Styles.     Escorihuela,  Tailor, 

Manuel,  who  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  read 
all  these  signs,  went  into  the  building  by  a  little  door 
at  the  side  of  the  livery-stable  entrance,  and  walked 
through  the  corridor  to  a  very  filthy  courtyard. 

When  he  returned  to  the  street  the  cobbler's  shop 
had  already  been  opened.  Petra  and  her  boy  en- 
tered. 

"Isn't  Senor  Ignacio  in?"  she  asked. 

"He'll  be  here  in  a  second,"  answered  a  youngster 
who  was  piling  up  old  shoes  in  the  middle  of  the 
shop. 

"Tell  him  that  his  cousin  is  here, — Petra." 

Senor  Ignacio  appeared.     He  was  a  man  of  be-    X 
tween  forty  and  fifty,  thin  and  wizened.     Petra  and 
he  got  into  conversation,  while  the  boy  and  a  little 
urchin  continued  to  heap  up  the  old  shoes.     Manuel 
was  looking  on,  when  the  boy  said  to  him: 


58  THEQUEST 

"Come  on,  you.     Lend  a  handl" 

Manuel  pitched  in,  and  when  the  three  had 
ended  their  labours,  they  waited' for  Petra  and  Senor 
Ignacio  to  finish  chatting.  Petra  was  recounting 
Manuel's  latest  exploits  to  her  cousin  and  the  cob- 
bler listened  smilingly.  The  man  bore  no  signs  of 
gruffness;  he  was  blond  and  beardless;  upon  his 
upper  lip  sprouted  a  few  saffron-hued  hairs.  His 
complexion  was  leathery,  wrinkled;  the  deep  furrows 
of  his  face,  and  his  wearied  mien,  gave  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  weakling.  He  spoke  with  a  certain 
ironic  vagueness. 

"You're  going  to  stay  here,"  said  Petra  to 
Manuel. 

"All  right." 

"He's  an  amiable  rogue,"  exclaimed  Senor  Ig- 
nacio, laughing.  "He  agrees  right  away." 

"Yes;  he  takes  everything  calmly.  But,  look — " 
she  added,  turning  to  her  son,  "if  ever  I  find  out 
that  you  carry  on  as  you  did  yesterday,  you'll  hear 
from  me  1" 

Manuel  said  good-bye  to  his  mother. 

"Were  you  very  long  in  that  town  of  Soria  with 
my  cousin?"  Senor  Ignacio  asked. 

"Two  years." 

"And  did  you  work  very  hard  there?" 

"I  didn't  work  at  all." 

"Well,  sonny,  you  can't  get  out  of  it  here.  Come. 
Sit  down  and  get  busy.  These  are  your  cousins," 
added  Senor  Ignacio,  indicating  the  youth  and  the 
little  boy. 

"They  are  a  pair  of  warriors,  too." 


THE   REGENERATION         59 

The  youth's  name  was  Leandro,  and  he  was  well- 
built;  in  no  respect  did  he  resemble  his  father.  He 
had  thick  lips  and  a  thick  nose,  an  obstinate,  manly 
expression;  the  other  was  a  boy  of  about  Manuel's 
age,  frail,  thin,  with  a  rascally  look,  and  called 
Vidal. 

Senor  Ignacio  and  the  three  boys  sat  down  around 
a  wooden  block  formed  of  a  tree-trunk  with  a  deep 
groove  running  through  it.  The  labour  consisted 
in  undoing  and  taking  apart  old  boots  and  shoes, 
which  arrived  at  the  shop  from  every  direction  in 
huge,  badly  tied  bales  and  in  sacks  with  paper  desig- 
nations sewed  to  the  burlap.  The  boot  destined  to 
be  drawn  and  quartered  was  laid  upon  the  block; 
there  it  received  a  stroke  or  more  from  a  knife  until 
the  heel  was  severed;  then,  with  the  nippers  the 
various  layers  of  sole  were  ripped  off;  with  the 
scissors  they  cut  off  buttons  and  laces,  and  every- 
thing was  sorted  into  its  corresponding  basket:  in 
one,  the  heels;  in  others,  the  rubbers,  the  latchets, 
the  buckles. 

So  low  had  The  Regeneration  of  Footwear  de- 
scended: it  justified  its  title  in  a  manner  quite  dis- 
tinct from  that  intended  by  the  one  who  had  be- 
stowed it. 

Senor  Ignacio,  a  master  workman,  had  been  com- 
pelled through  lack  of  business  to  abandon  the  awl 
and  the  shoemaker's  stirrup  for  the  nippers  and  the 
knife;  creating  for  destroying;  the  fashioning  of 
new  boots  for  the  disembowelling  of  old.  The  con- 
trast was  bitter;  but  Senor  Ignacio  could  find  con- 
solation in  looking  across  at  his  neighbour,  he  of 


thi 
SP 


60  THE   QUEST 

the  Lion  of  The  Shoemaker's  Art,  who  only  at  rare 
intervals  would  receive  an  order  for  some  cheap  pair 
of  boots. 

The  first  morning  of  work  was  infinitely  boresome 
to  Manuel;  this  protracted  inactivity  became  unbear- 
able. ^At  noon  a  bulky  old  woman  entered  the  shop 
with  their  lunch  in  a  basket.  This  was  Sefior  Ig- 
nacio's  mother. 

"And  my  wife)?"  the  cobbler  asked  her. 

"She's  gone  washing." 

"And  Salome?     Isn't  she  coming?" 

"No.  She  got  some  work  in  a  house  for  the 
whole  week." 

The  old  lady  extracted  from  the  basket  a  pot, 
dishes,  napkins,  cutlery,  and  a  huge  loaf  of  bread; 
she  laid  a  cloth  upon  the  floor  and  everybody 
squatted  down  around  it.  She  poured  the  soup 
from  the  pot  into  the  plates,  into  which  each  one 
crumbled  a  bit  of  bread,  and  they  began  to  eat. 
Then  the  old  woman  doled  out  to  each  his  portion 
of  boiled  meat  and  vegetables,  and,  as  they  ate, 
the  cobbler  discoursed  briefly  upon  the  future  of 

ain  and  the  reasons  for  national  backwardness, — 
a  topic  that  appeals  to  most  Spaniards,  who  con- 
sider themselves  regenerators. 

Senor  Ignacio  was  a  mild  liberal,  a  man  who 
swelled  with  enthusiasm  over  these  words  about 
the  national  sovereignty,  and  who  spoke  openly  of 
the  Glorious  Revolution.  In  matters  of  religion 
he  advocated  freedom  of  worship;  his  ideal  would 
be  for  Spain  to  have  an  equal  number  of  priests  of 
the  Catholic,  Protestant,  Jewish  and  every  other  de- 


THE   REGENERATION        61 

nomination,  for  thus,  he  asserted,  each  would  choose 
the  dogma  that  seemed  to  him  best.  But  one  thing 
he'd  certainly  do  if  he  had  a  say  in  the  government. 
He  would  expel  all  the  monks  and  nuns,  for  they're 
like  the  mange :  the  weaker  the  sufferer,  the  more 
it  thrives.  To  this  argument  Leandro,  the  elder 
son,  added  that  as  far  as  the  monks,  nuns  and  other 
small  fry  were  concerned,  the  best  course  with  them 
was  to  lop  off  their  heads  like  hogs,  and  with  regard 
to  the  priests,  whether  Catholic,  Protestant  or 
Chinese,  nothing  would  be  lost  if  there  were  nary  a 
one. 

The  old  lady,  too,  joined  the  conversation,  and 
since  to  her,  as  a  huckstress  of  vegetables,  politics 
was  chiefly  a  question  between  marketwomen  and  the 
municipal  guards,  she  spoke  of  a  row  in  which  the 
amiable  ladies  of  the  Cebada  market  had  discharged 
their  garden  produce  at  the  heads  of  several  red- 
coats who  were  defending  a  trouble-maker  of  the 
market.  The  huckstresses  wanted  to  organize  a 
union,  and  then  lay  down  the  law  and  fix  prices. 
Now  this  didn't  at  all  appeal  to  her. 

"What  the  deuce!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  right 
have  they  to  take  away  a  person's  stock  if  he  wants 
to  sell  it  cheaper?  Suppose  I  take  it  into  my  head 
to  give  it  all  away  free." 

"Why  no,  senora,"  differed  Leandro.  "That's 
not  right." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  it  isn't.  Because  tradesfolk  ought  to 
help  one  another,  and  if  you,  let's  suppose,  do  as 
you  say,  you  prevent  somebody  else  from  selling, 


62  THE   QUEST 

and  that's  why  Socialism  was  invented, — to  favour 
man's  industry." 

"All  right,  then.  Let  them  give  two  duros  to 
man's  industry  and  kill  it." 

The  woman  spoke  very  phlegmatically  and  sen- 
tentiously.  Her  calm  manner  harmonized  perfectly 
with  her  huge  person,  which  was  as  thick  and  rigid 
as  a  tree-trunk;  her  face  was  fleshy  and  of  stolid 
features,  her  wrinkles  deep;  pouches  of  loose  flesh 
sagged  beneath  her  eyes;  on  her  head  she  wore  a 
black  kerchief,  tightly  knotted  around  her  temples. 

Senora  Jacoba — that  was  her  name — was  a 
woman  who  probably  felt  neither  heat  nor  cold; 
summer  and  winter  she  spent  the  dead  hours  seated 
by  her  vegetable  stand  at  the  Puerta  de  Moros;  if 
she  sold  a  head  of  lettuce  between  sunrise  and  sun- 
set, it  was  a  great  deal. 

After  eating,  some  of  the  shoemaker's  family 
went  off  to  the  courtyard  for  their  siesta,  while 
others  remained  in  the  shop. 

Vidal,  the  man's  younger  son,  sprawled  out  in 
the  patio  beside  Manuel,  and  having  inquired  into 
the  cause  of  the  bumps  that  stood  out  on  his  cousin's 
forehead,  asked: 

"Have  you  ever  been  on  this  street  before?" 

"I?    No." 

"We  have  great  times  around  here." 

"You  do,  eh?" 

"I  should  say  so.     Haven't  you  a  girl?" 

"I?     No." 

"Well,  there  are  lots  of  girls  'round  here  that 
would  like  to  have  a  fellow." 


THE   REGENERATION         63 

"Really?" 

"Yes,  sir!  Over  where  we  live  there's  a  very 
pretty  little  thing,  a  friend  of  my  girl.  You  can 
hitch  up  with  her." 

"But  don't  you  live  in  this  house?" 

"No.  We  live  in  Embajadores  lane.  It's  my 
aunt  Salome  and  my  grandmother  who  live  here. 
Over  where  we  are — oh,  boy! — the  times  I've  had!" 

"In  the  town  where  I  come  from,"  said  Manuel, 
not  to  be  dwarfed  by  his  cousin,  "there  were  moun- 
tains higher  than  twenty  of  your  houses  here." 

"In  Madrid  we've  got  the  Monte  de  Principe 
Pio." 

"But  it  can't  be  as  high  as  the  one  in  that  town." 

"It  can't?  Why,  in  Madrid  everything's  the 
best." 

Manuel  was  not  a  little  put  out  by  the  superiority 
which  his  cousin  tried  to  assume  by  speaking  to  him 
about  women  in  the  tone  of  an  experienced  man 
about  town  who  knew  them  through  and  through. 
After  the  noonday  nap  and  a  game  of  mus,  over 
which  the  shoemaker  and  a  few  neighbours  managed 
to  get  into  a  wrangle,  Sefior  Ignacio  and  his  children 
went  off  to  their  house.  Manuel  supped  at  Senora 
Jacoba's,  the  vegetable  huckstress's,  and  slept  in  a 
beautiful  bed  that  looked  to  him  far  better  than  the 
one  at  the  boarding-house. 

Once  in,  he  weighed  the  pros  and  contras  of  his 
new  social  position,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  calcula- 
tions as  to  whether  the  needle  of  the  balance  inclined 
to  this  side  or  that,  he  fell  asleep. 

At  first,  the  monotony  of  the  labour  and  the  steady 


64  THEQUEST 

application  bothered  Manuel;  but  soon  he  grew  ac- 
customed to  one  thing  and  another,  so  that  the  days 
seemed  shorter  and  the  work  less  irksome. 

The  first  Sunday  Manuel  was  fast  asleep  in  Senora 
Jacoba's  house  when  Vidal  came  in  and  waked  him. 
It  was  after  eleven;  the  marketwoman,  as  usual,  had 
departed  at  dawn  for  her  stall,  leaving  the  boy  alone. 

"What  are  you  doing  there  ?"  asked  Vidal.  "Why 
don't  you  get  up?" 

"Why?     What  time  is  it?" 

"Awful  late." 

Manuel  dressed  hurriedly  and  they  both  left  the 
house.  Nearby,  opposite  Aguila  street,  on  a  little 
square,  they  joined  a  group  of  boys  who  were  play- 
ing chito,  and  they  followed  the  fortunes  of  the  game 
with  deep  interest. 

At  noon  Vidal  said  to  his  cousin: 

"Today  we're  going  to  eat  yonder." 

"At  your  house?" 

"Yes.     Come  on." 

Vidal,  whose  specialty  was  finding  things,  dis- 
covered close  by  the  fountain  of  the  Ronda,  which 
is  near  Aguila  Street,  an  old,  wide-brimmed  high 
hat;  the  poor  thing  was  hidden  in  a  corner,  perhaps 
through  modesty.  He  began  to  kick  it  along  and 
send  it  flying  through  the  air  and  Manuel  joined  in 
the  enterprise,  so  that  between  the  two  they  trans- 
ported the  relic,  venerable  with  antiquity,  from  the 
Ronda  de  Segovia  to  that  of  Toledo,  thence  to  the 
Ronda  de  Embajadores,  until  they  abandoned  it  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  minus  top  and  brim.  Hav- 


THE   REGENERATION        65 

ing  committed  this  perversity,  Manuel  and  Vidal  de- 
bouched into  the  Paseo  da  las  Acacias  and  went  into 
a  house  whose  entrance  consisted  of  a  dooriess  arch- 
way. 

The  two  boys  walked  through  a  narrow  passage 
paved  with  cobblestones' until  they  reached  a  court- 
yard, and  then,  by  one  of  the  numerous  staircases 
they  climbed  to  the  balcony  of  the  first  floor,  on 
which  opened  a  row  of  doors  and  windows  all 
painted  blue. 

"Here's  where  we  live,"  said  Vidal,  pointing  to 
one  of  the  doors. 

They  entered.  Sefior  Ignacio's  home  was  small; 
it  comprised  two  bedrooms,  a  parlour,  the  kitchen 
and  a  dark  room.  The  first  habitation  was  the  par- 
lour, furnished  with  a  pine  bureau,  a  sofa,  several 
straw  chairs  and  a  green  mirror  stuck  with  chromos 
and  photographs  and  covered  with  red  netting. 
The  cobbler's  family  used  the  parlour  as  the  dining- 
room  on  Sundays,  because  it  was  the  lightest  and 
the  most  spacious  of  their  rooms. 

When  Manuel  and  Vidal  arrived  the  family  had 
been  waiting  for  them  a  long  time.  They  all  sat 
down  to  table,  and  Salome,  the  cobbler's  sister-in- 
law,  took  charge  of  serving  the  meal.  She  re- 
sembled  very  closely  her  sister,  the  mother  of  Vidal. 
Both,  of  medium  height,  had  short,  saucy  noses  and 
black,  pretty  eyes;  despite  this  physical  similarity, 
however,  their  appearance  differentiated  them 
sharply.  Vidal's  mother, — called  Leandra, — un- 
tidy, unkempt,  loathsome,  and  betraying  traces  of 


66  THE   QUEST 

ill  humour,  seemed  much  older  than  Salome,  al- 
though but  three  or  four  years  separated  them. 
Salome  had  a  merry,  resolute  air. 

v  Yet,  consider  the  irony  of  fate!  Leandra,  de- 
spite her  slovenly  ways,  her  sour  disposition  and  her 
addiction  to  drink,\  was  married  to  a  good  hard- 
working man,  while  Salome,  endowed  with  excellent 
gifts  of  industriousness  and  sweet  temper,  had  wound 
up  by  going  to  live  with  an  outcast  who  made  his 
way  by  swindling,  pilfering  and  browbeating  and 
who  had  given  her  two  children.  Her  humble  or 
servile  spirit,  confronted  with  this  wild,  independent 
nature,  made  Salome  adore  her  man,  and  she  de- 
ceived herself  into  considering  him  a  tremendous, 
energetic  fellow,  though  he  was  in  all  truth  a  coward 
and  a  tramp.  The  bully  had  seen  just  how  matters 
stood,  and  whenever  it  pleased  him  he  would  stamp 
into  the  house  and  demand  the  pay  that  Salome 
earned  by  sewing  at  the  machine,  at  five  centimes 
per  two  yards.  Unresistingly  she  handed  him  the 
product  of  her  sweating  toil,  and  many  a  time  the 
ruffian,  not  content  with  depriving  her  of  the  money, 
gave  her  a  beating  into  the  bargain. 

Salome's  two  children  were  not  today  in  Senor 
Ignacio's  home;  on  Sundays,  after  dressing  them 
very  neatly,  their  mother  would  send  them  to  a 
relative  of  hers, — the  proprietress  of  a  workshop, — 
where  they  spent  the  afternoon. 

At  the  meal  Manuel  listened  to  the  conversation 
without  taking  part.  They  were  discussing  one  of 
the  girls  of  the  neighbourhood  who  had  run  off  with 
a  wealthy  horse-dealer,  a  married  man  with  a  family. 


THE   REGENERATION         67 

"She  did  wisely,"  declared  Leandra,  draining  a 
glass  of  wine. 

"If  she  didn't  know  he  was  married.  *  .  *" 

"What's  the  difference?"  retorted  Leandra  with 
an  air  of  unconcern. 

"Plenty.  How  would  you  like  a  woman  to  carry 
off  your  husband?"  Salome  asked  her  sister, 

"Psch!" 

"Yes,  nowadays,  we  know,"  interrupted  Senor  Ig- 
nacio's  mother.  "Of  two  women  there  isn't  one 
that's  respectable." 

"A  great  ways  any  one'll  go  by  being  respectable," 
snarled  Leandra.  "Poverty  and  hunger  ...  If  a 
woman  weren't  to  get  married,  then  she  might  make 
a  change  and  even  acquire  money." 

"I  don't  see  how,"  asserted  Salome. 

"How  ?     Even  if  she  had  to  go  into  the  business." 

Sefior  Ignacio,  disgusted,  turned  his  head  away 
from  his  wife,  and  his  elder  son,  Leandro,  eyed  his 
mother  grimly,  severely. 

"Bah,  that's  all  talk,"  argued  Salome,  who  wished 
to  thresh  the  matter  out  impersonally.  "You'd 
hardly  like  it  just  the  same  if  folks  were  to  insult 
you  wherever  you  went." 

"Me?  Much  I  care  what  folks  say  to  me!"  re- 
plied the  cobbler's  wife.  "Stuff  and  nonsense  I  If 
they  call  me  a  loose  woman,  and  if  I'm  not,  why, 
you  see:  a  floral  wreath.  And  if  I  am, — it's  all 
the  same  in  the  end." 

Senor  Ignacio,  offended,  shifted  the  conversation 
to  the  crime  on  Panuelas  Street;  a  jealous  organ- 
grinder  had  slain  his  sweetheart  for  a  harsh  word 


68  THE   QUEST 

and  the  hearers  were  excited  over  the  case,  each 
offering  his  opinion.  The  meal  over,  Senor  Ig- 
nacio,  Leandro,  Vidal  and  Manuel  went  out  to  the 
gallery  to  have  a  nap  while  the  women  remained  in- 
side gossiping. 

All  the  neighbours  had  brought  their  sleeping- 
mats  out,  and  in  their  undershirts,  half  naked,  some 
seated,  others  stretched  out,  they  were  dozing  on  the 
galleries. 

"Hey,  you,"  said  Vidal  to  Manuel.  "Let's  be 
off." 

"Where?" 

"To  the  Pirates.  We  meet  today.  They  must 
be  waiting  for  us  already." 

"What  do  you  mean, — pirates?" 

"Bizco  and  the  others." 

"And  why  do  they  call  'em  that?" 

"Because  they're  like  the  old  time  pirates." 

Manuel  and  Vidal  stepped  into  the  patio  and 
leaving  the  house,  walked  off  down  Embajadores 
lane. 

"They  call  us  the  Pirates,"  explained  Vidal,  "from 
a  certain  battle  of  stones  we  had.  Some  of  the 
kids  from  the  Paseo  de  las  Acacias  had  got  some 
sticks  and  formed  a  company  with  a  Spanish  flag  at 
the  head;  then  I,  Bizco,  and  three  or  four  others, 
began  to  throw  stones  at  them  and  made  them  re- 
treat. The  Corretor,  a  fellow  who  lives  in  our 
house,  and  who  saw  us  chasing  after  them,  said  to 
us:  'Say,  are  you  pirates  or  what?  For,  if  you're 
pirates  you  ought  to  fly  the  black  flag.  Well,  next 
day  I  swiped  a  dark  apron  from  my  father  and  I 


THE   REGENERATION        69 

tied  it  to  a  stick  and  we  got  after  the  kids  with  the 
Spanish  flag  and  came  near  making  them  surrender 
it.  That's  why  they  call  us  the  Pirates." 

The  two  cousins  came  to  a  tiny,  squalid  district. 

"This  is  the  Casa  del  Cabrero,"  said  Vidal.  "And 
here  are  our  chums." 

So  it  proved;  the  entire  pirate  gang  was  here  en- 
camped. Manuel  now  made  the  acquaintance  of 
El  Bizco,  a  cross-eyed  species  of  chimpanzee,  square- 
shaped,  husky,  long-armed,  with  misshapen  legs  and 
huge  red  hands. 

"This  is  my  cousin,"  added  Vidal,  introducing 
Manuel  to  the  gang;  and  then,  to  make  him  seem 
interesting,  he  told  how  Manuel  had  come  to  the 
house  with  two  immense  lumps  that  he  had  re- 
ceived  in  a  Homeric  struggle  with  a  man. 

Bizco  stared  closely  at  Manuel,  and  seeing  that 
Manuel,  on  his  side,  was  observing  him  calmly, 
averted  his  gaze.  Bizco's  face  possessed  the  inter-  X 
est  of  a  queer  animal  or  of  a  pathological  specimen. 
His  narrow  forehead,  his  flat  nose,  his  thick  lips, 
his  freckled  skin  and  his  red,  wiry  hair  lent  him  the 
appearance  of  a  huge,  red  baboon. 

As  soon  as  Vidal  had  arrived,  the  gang  mobilized 
and  all  the  ragamuffins  went  foraging  through  la 
Casa  del  Cabrero. 

This  was  the  name  given  to  a  group  of  low  tene- 
ment hovels  that  bounded  a  long,  narrow  patio.  At 
this  hot  hour  the  men  and  women,  stretched  out  half 
naked  on  the  ground,  were  sleeping  in  the  shade  as 
in  a  trance.  Some  women,  in  shifts,  huddled  into  a 
circle  of  four  or  five,  were  smoking  the  same  cigar, 


70  THEQUEST 

each  taking  a  puff  and  passing  it  along  from  hand  to 
hand. 

A  swarm  of  naked  brats  infested  the  place;  they 
were  the  colour  of  the  soil,  most  of  them  black,  some 
fair,  with  blue  eyes.  As  if  already  they  felt  the 
degradation  of  their  poverty,  these  urchins  neither 
shouted  nor  frolicked  about  the  yard. 

A  few  lasses  of  ten  to  fourteen  were  chatting  in  a 
group.  Bizco,  Vidal  and  the  rest  of  the  gang  gave 
chase  to  them  around  the  patio.  The  girls,  half 
naked,  dashed  off,  shrieking  and  shouting  insults. 

Bizco  boasted  that  he  had  violated  some  of  the 
girls. 

"They're  all  puchereras  like  the  ones  on  Ceres 
Street,"  said  one  of  the  Pirates. 

"So  they  make  pots,  do  they?"  inquired  Manuel. 

"Yes.     Fine  pots,  all  right!" 

"Then  why  do  you  call  them  puchereras?" 

"Becau — "  added  the  urchin,  and  he  made  a 
coarse  gesture. 

"Because  they're  a  sly  bunch,"  stammered  Bizco. 
"You're  awful  simple." 

Manuel  contemplated  Bizco  scornfully,  and  asked 
his  cousin: 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  those  little 
girls  .  .  .  ?" 

"They  and  their  mothers,"  answered  Vidal 
philosophically.  "Almost  all  of  'em  that  live  here." 

The  Pirates  left  the  Casa  del  Cabrero,  descended 
an  embarkment  after  passing  a  high,  black  fence, 
and  at  the  middle  of  Casa  Blanca  turned  into  the 
Paseo  de  Yesenas. 


THE   REGENERATION         71 

They  approached  the  morgue,  a  white  structure 
near  the  river,  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Dehesa  del 
Canal.  They  circled  around  it,  trying  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  some  corpse,  but  the  windows  were 
closed. 

They  continued  along  the  banks  of  the  Man- 
zanares,  amidst  the  twisted  pines  of  la  Dehesa. 
The  river  ran  very  thin,  consisting  of  a  few  threads! 
of  murky  water  and  pools  above  the  mud. 

At  the  end  of  the  Dehesa  de  la  Arganzuela,  op- 
posite a  large,  spacious  lot  surrounded  by  a  fence 
made  of  flattened  oil  cans  nailed  to  posts,  the  gang 
paused  to  inspect  the  place,  whose  wide  area  was 
taken  up  with  watering-carts,  mechanical  sweepers, 
ditch  pumps,  heaps  of  brooms  and  other  tools 
and  appurtenances  of  municipal  cleanliness. 

In  one  corner  of  the  lot  arose  a  white  edifice  that, 
judging  from  its  two  towers  and  the  vacant  belfrieSj 
had  formerly  been  a  church  or  a  convent. 

The  gang  went  nosing  about  the  place  and  passed 
under  an  arch  bearing  the  inscription:  "Stallion 
Stables."  Behind  the  structure  that  looked  like  a 
convent  they  came  upon  some  shanties  furnished 
with  filthy,  grimy  mats :  African  huts  built  upon  a 
framework  of  rough  sticks  and  cane. 

Bizco  went  into  one  of  these  hovels  and  returned 
with  a  piece  of  cod  in  his  hand. 

Manuel  was  overcome  by  a  horrible  fear. 

"I'm  going,"  he  said  to  Vidal. 

"What  do  you  mean  I  ..."  exclaimed  one  of  the, 
gang  ironically.  "Much  nerve  you've  got  I" 

All  at  once  another  of  the  urchins  cried: 


72  THE   QUEST 

"Skip.     Somebody's  coming!" 

The  pirates  started  on  a  run  down  the  Paseo  del 
Canal. 

Madrid,  with  its  yellowish  dwellings  veiled  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  came  into  view.  The  high  window- 
panes  were  aglow  with  the  reflection  of  the  setting 
sun.  From  the  Paseo  del  Canal,  crossing  a  stubble 
patch,  they  reached  the  Plaza  de  las  Penuelas,  then, 
after  going  up  another  street  they  climbed  the  Paseo 
de  las  Acacias. 

They  entered  the  Corralon.  Manuel  and  Vidal, 
after  having  arranged  to  meet  the  gang  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sunday,  climbed  the  stairway  to  Senor  Ig- 
nacio's  house  and  as  they  drew  near  to  the  cobbler's 
door  they  heard  cries. 

"Father's  giving  the  old  lady  a  beating,"  mur- 
murel  Vidal.  "There  won't  be  much  to  eat  today. 
I'm  going  off  to  sleep." 

"And  how  do  I  get  to  the  other  house?"  asked 
Manuel. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  walk  along  the  Ronda  until 
you  reach  the  Aguila  street  stairway.  You  can't 
miss  it." 

Manuel  followed  the  directions.  It  was  fearfully 
hot;  the  air  was  thick  with  dust.  A  few  men  were 
playing  cards  in  tavern  doorways,  and  in  others 
they  were  dancing  in  embrace  to  the  strains  of  a, 
barrel-organ. 

When  Manuel  reached  the  Aguila  Street  stair- 
way it  was  getting  dark.  He  sat  down  to  rest  a 
while  in  the  Campillo  de  Gil  Imon.  From  this  ele- 
vated point  could  be  seen  the  yellowish  country, 


THE   REGENERATION        73 

growing  darker  and  darker  with  approaching  night, 
and  the  chimneys  and  housetops  sharply  outlined 
against  the  horizon.  The  sky,  blue  and  green  above, 
was  flushed  with  red  nearer  the  earth;  it  darkened 
and  assumed  sinister  hues, — coppery  reds,  purplish 
reds. 

Above  the  mudwalls  jutted  the  turrets  and  the  cy- 
presses of  San  Isidro  cemetery;  a  round  cupola  stood 
out  clearly  in  the  atmosphere ;  at  its  top  rose  an  angel 
with  wings  outspread,  as  if  about  to  take  flight 
against  the  flaming,  blood-red  background  of  eve- 
ning. 

Above  the  embanked  clouds  of  the  twilight  shone 
a  pale  star  in  a  green  border,  and  on  the  horizon, 
animated  by  the  last  breath  of  day,  could  be  dis- 
cerned the  hazy  silhouettes  of  distant  mountains. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  "Big  Yard,"  or  Uncle  Rilo's  House— Local  Enmities. 

WHEN  Salome  finished  her  sewing  and 
went  off  to  Aguila  Street  to  sleep,  Man- 
uej.  definitively  settled  in  the  home  of 
Uncle  Rilo,  of  Embaj adores  lane.  Some  called 
this  La  Corrala,  others,  El  Corralon,  still 
others,  La  Piltra,  and  it  boasted  so  many 
other  names  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  neigh- 
bours spent  hours  and  hours  thinking  up  new 
designations  for  it. 

The  Corralon  (Big  yard) — this  was  the  best 
known  name  of  Uncle  Rilo's  lair, — fronted  the 
Paseo  de  las  Acacias,  but  it  was  not  in  the  direct 
line  of  this  thoroughfare,  as  it  set  somewhat  back. 
The  fagade  of  this  tenement,  low,  narrow,  kalso- 
mined,  indicated  neither  the  depth  nor  the  size  of 
the  building;  the  front  revealed  a  few  ill-shaped 
windows  and  holes  unevenly  arranged,  while  a  door- 
less  archway  gave  access  to  a  narrow  passage  paved 
with  cobblestones;  this,  soon  widening,  formed  a 
patio  surrounded  by  high,  gloomy  walls. 

From  the  sides  of  the  narrow  entrance  passage 
rose  brick  stairways  leading  to  open  galleries  that 
ran  along  the  three  stories  of  the  house  and  returned 
to  the  patio.  At  intervals,  in  the  back  of  these 

74 


THE   "BIG   YARD'  75 

galleries,  opened  rows  of  doors  painted  blue  with 
a  black  number  on  the  lintel  of  each. 

Between  the  lime  and  the  bricks  of  the  walls 
stuck  out,  like  exposed  bones,  jamb-posts  and  cross- 
beams, surrounded  by  lean  bass  ropes.  The  gallery 
columns,  as  well  as  the  lintels  and  the  beams  that 
supported  them,  must  formerly  have  been  painted 
green,  but  as  the  result  of  the  constant  action  of  sun 
and  rain  only  a  stray  patch  of  the  original  colour 
remained. 

The  courtyard  was  always  filthy;  in  one  corner 
lay  a  heap  of  useless  scraps  covered  by  a  sheet  of 
zinc;  one  could  make  out  grimy  cloths,  decayed 
planks,  debris',  bricks,  tiles,  baskets:  an  infernal 
jumble.  Every  afternoon  some  of  the  women 
would  do  their  washing  in  the  patio,  and  when  they 
finished  their  work  they  would  empty  their  tubs  on 
to  the  ground,  and  the  big  pools,  on  drying,  would 
leave  white  stains  and  indigo  rills  of  bluing.  The 
neighbours  also  had  the  habit  of  throwing  their 
rubbish  anywhere  at  all,  and  when  it  rained — since 
the  mouth  of  the  drain  would  always  become 
clogged — an  unbearable,  pestilential  odour  would 
rise  from  the  black,  stagnant  stream  that  inundated 
the  patio,  and  on  its  surface  floated  cabbage  leaves 
and  greasy  papers. 

Each  neighbour  could  leave  his  tools  and  things  in 
the  section  of  the  gallery  that  bounded  his  dwelling; 
from  the  looks  of  this  area  one  might  deduce  the 
grade  of  poverty  or  relative  comfort  of  each  family, 
— its  predilections  and  its  tastes. 

This  space  usually  revealed  an  attempt  at  cleanli- 


76  THEQUEST 

ness  and  a  curious  aspect;  here  the  wall  was  white- 
washed, there  hung  a  cage, — a  few  flowers  in 
earthenware  pots;  elsewhere  a  certain  utilitarian 
instinct  found  vent  in  the  strings  of  garlic  put  out  to 
dry  or  clusters  of  grape  suspended;  beyond,  a  car- 
penter's bench  and  a  tool-chest  gave  evidence  of  the 
industrious  fellow  who  worked  during  his  free  hours. 

In  general,  however,  one  could  see  only  dirty 
wash  hung  out  on  the  balustrades,  curtains  made  of 
mats,  quilts  mended  with  patches  of  ill-assorted 
colors,  begrimed  rags  stretched  over  broomsticks 
or  suspended  from  ropes  tied  from  one  post  to  the 
other,  that  they  might  get  a  trifle  more  light  and 
air. 

Every  section  of  the  gallery  was  a  manifestation 
of  a  life  apart  within  this  communism  of  hunger; 
this  edifice  contained  every  grade  and  shade  of 
poverty:  from  the  heroic,  garbed  in  clean,  decent 
tatters,  to  the  most  nauseating  and  repulsive. 

In  the  majority  of  the  rooms  and  holes  of  La 
Corrala  one  was  struck  immediately  by  the  resigned, 
indolent  indigence  combined  with  organic  and  moral 
impoverishment. 

In  the  space  belonging  to  the  cobbler's  family,  at 
the  tip  of  a  very  long  pole  attached  to  one  of  the 
pillars,  waved  a  pair  of  patch-covered  trousers 
comically  balancing  itself. 

Off  from  the  large  courtyard  of  El  Corralon 
branched  a  causeway  heaped  with  ordure,  leading  to 
a  smaller  courtyard  that  in  winter  was  converted 
into  a  fetid  swamp. 

A  lantern,  surrounded   with  a    wire    netting    to 


THE      'BIG    YARD'  77 

prevent  the  children  from  breaking  it  with  stones, 
hung  from  one  of  the  black  walls. 

In  the  inner  courtyard  the  rooms  were  much 
cheaper  than  those  of  the  large  patio;  most  of  them 
brought  twenty-three  reales,  but  there  were  some 
for  two  or  three  pesetas  per  month :  dismal  dens 
with  no  ventilation  at  all,  built  in  the  spaces  under 
stairways  and  under  the  roof. 

In  some  moister  climate  La  Corrala  would  have 
been  a  nest  of  contagion:  the  wind  and  sun  of 
Madrid,  however, — that  sun  which  brings  blisters 
to  the  skin, — saw  to  the  disinfection  of  that  pest- 
hole. 

As  if  to  make  sure  that  terror  and  tragedy  should 
haunt  the  edifice,  one  saw,  on  entering, — either  at 
the  main  door  or  in  the  corridor, — a  drunken,  de- 
lirious hag  who  begged  alms  and  spat  insults  at 
everybody.  They  called  her  Death.  She  must 
have  been  very  old,  or  at  least  appeared  so.  Her 
gaze  was  wandering,  her  look  diffident,  her  face 
purulent  with  scabs ;  one  of  her  lower  eyelids,  drawn 
in  as  the  result  of  some  ailment,  exposed  the  bloody, 
turbid  inside  of  her  eyeball.  Death  would  stalk 
about  in  her  tatters,  in  house  slippers,  with  a  tin-box 
and  an  old  basket  into  which  she  gathered  her  find- 
ings. Through  certain  superstitious  considerations 
none  dared  to  throw  her  into  the  street. 

On  his  very  first  night  in  La  Corrala  Manuel 
verified,  not  without  a  certain  astonishment,  the 
truth  of  what  Vidal  had  told  him.  That  young- 
ster, and  almost  all  the  gamins  of  his  age,  had  sweet- 
hearts among  the  little  girls  of  the  tenement,  and 


78  THE   QUEST 

it  was  not  a  rare  occurrence,  as  he  passed  by  some 
nook,  to  come  upon  a  couple  that  jumped  up  and  ran 
away. 

The  little  children  amused  themselves  playing 
bull-fight,  and  among  the  most-applauded  feats  was 
that  of  Don  Tancredo.  One  tot  would  get  down 
on  all  fours,  and  another,  not  very  heavy,  would 
mount  him  and  fold  his  arms,  thrust  back  his  chest 
and  place  a  three-cornered  hat  of  paper  upon  his 
erect,  haughty  head. 

He  who  was  playing  the  bull  would  approach, 
roar  loudly,  sniff  Don  Tancredo  and  pass  by  with- 
out throwing  him  over;  a  couple  of  times  he  would 
repeat  this,  and  then  dash  off.  Whereupon  Don 
Tancredo  would  dismount  from  his  living  pedestal 
to  receive  the  plaudits  of  the  public.  There  were 
wily,  waggish  bulls  who  took  it  into  their  heads  to 
pull  both  statue  and  pedestal  to  the  ground,  and 
this  would  be  received  amidst  shouts  and  huzzahs 
of  the  spectators. 

In  the  meantime  the  girls  would  be  playing  in  a 
ring,  the  women  would  shout  from  gallery  to  gallery 
and  the  men  would  chat  in  their  shirtsleeves;  some 
fellow,  squatting  on  the  floor,  would  scrape  away 
monotonously  at  the  strings  of  a  guitar. 

La  Muerte,  the  old  beggar,  would  also  cheer  the 
evening  gatherings  with  her  long  discourse. 

La  Corrala  was  a  seething,  feverish  world  in  little, 
as  busy  as  an  anthill.  There  people  toiled,  idled, 
guzzled,  ate  and  died  of  hunger;  there  furniture 
was  made,  antiques  were  counterfeited,  old  embroid- 
eries were  fashioned,  buns  cooked,  broken  porce- 


THE   "BIG   YARD'  79 

lain  mended,  robberies  planned  and  women's  favours 
traded. 

La  Corrala  was  a  microcosm;  it  was  said  that  if 
all  the  denizens  were  placed  in  line  they  would  reach 
from  Embajadores  lane  to  the  Plaza  del  Progreso; 
it  harboured  men  who  were  everything  and  yet  noth- 
ing: half  scholars,  half  smiths,  half  carpenters,  half 
masons,  half  business  men,  half  thieves. 

In  general,  everybody  who  lived  here  was  dis-  X 
oriented,  dwelling  in  that  unending  abjection  pro- 
duced by  everlasting,  irremediable  poverty;  many 
sloughed  their  occupations  as  a  reptile  its  skin;  others 
had  none;  some  carpenters'  or  masons'  helpers,  be- 
cause of  their  lack  of  initiative,  understanding  and 
skill,  could  never  graduate  from  their  apprentice- 
ship. There  were  also  gypsies,  mule  and  dog  clip- 
pers, nor  was  there  a  dearth  of  porters,  itinerant 
barbers  and  mountebanks.  Almost  all  of  them,  if 
opportunity  offered,  stole  what  they  could;  they  all 
presented  the  same  pauperized,  emaciated  look. 
And  all  harboured  a  constant  rage  that  vented  itself 
in  furious  imprecations  and  blasphemies. 

They  lived  as  if  sunk  in  the  shades  of  a  deep  slum-  y 
ber,  unable  to  form  any  clear  notion  of  their  lives, 
without  aspirations,  aims,  projects  or  anything. 

There  were  some  whom  a  couple  of  glasses  of 
wine  made  drunk  for  half  a  week;  others  seemed 
already  besotted,  without  having  had  a  sip,  and  their 
countenances  constantly  mirrored  the  most  absolute 
debasement,  whence  they  escaped  only  in  a  fleeting 
moment  of  anger  or  indignation. 
Money  was  to  them,  more  often  than  not,  a  misfor- 


80  THEQUEST 

tune.  Possessing  an  instinctive  understanding  of 
their  weakness  and  their  frail  wills,  they  would 
resort  to  the  tavern  in  quest  of  courage;  there  they 
would  cast  off  all  restraint,  shout,  argue,  forget  the 
sorrows  of  the  moment,  feel  generous,  and  when, 
after  having  bragged  to  the  top  of  their  bent  they 
believed  themselves  ready  for  anything,  they  dis- 
covered that  they  hadn't  a  centime  and  that  the 
illusory  strength  imbibed  with  the  alcohol  was 
evaporating. 

The  women  of  the  house,  as  a  rule,  worked  harder 
than  the  men,  and  were  almost  always  disputing. 
For  thirty  years  past  they  had  all  shared  the  same 
character  and  represented  almost  the  same  type: 
foul,  unkempt,  termagacious,  they  shrieked  and 
grew  desperate  upon  the  slightest  provocation. 

From  time  to  time,  like  a  gentle  sunbeam  amidst 
the  gloom,  the  souls  of  these  stultified,  bestial 
men, — of  these  women  embittered  by  harsh  lives 
that  held  neither  solace  nor  illusion, — would  be  pen- 
etrated by  a  romantic,  disinterested  feeling  of  ten- 
derness that  made  them  live  like  human  beings  for 
a  while;  but  when  the  gust  of  sentimentalism  had 
blown  over,  they  would  return  to  their  moral  inertia, 
as  resigned  and  passive  as  ever.  The  permanent 
neighbours  of  La  Corrala  were  situated  in  the  floors 
surrounding  the  large  courtyard.  In  the  other 
courtyard  the  majority  were  transients,  and  spent, 
at  most,  a  couple  of  weeks  in  the  house.  Then,  a,s 
the  saying  was  among  them,  they  spread  wing. 

One  day  a  mender  would  appear  with  his  huge 
bag,  his  brace  and  his  pliers,  shouting  through  the 


8i 

streets  in  a  husky  voice:  "Jars  and  tubs  to  mend 
.  .  .  pans,  dishes  and  plates !"  After  a  short  stay 
he  would  be  off;  the  following  week  arrived  a  dealer 
in  cloth  bargains,  crying  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  his 
silk  handkerchiefs  at  ten  and  fifteen  centimes;  an- 
other day  came  an  itinerant  hawker,  his  cases  laden 
with  pins,  combs  and  brooches,  or  some  purchaser 
of  gold  and  silver  braid.  Certain  seasons  of  the 
year  brought  a  contingent  of  special  types;  spring 
announced  itself  through  the  appearance  of  mule 
dealers,  tinkers,  gypsies  and  bohemians;  in  autumn 
swarmed  bands  of  rustics  with  cheese  from  La 
Mancha  and  pots  of  honey,  while  winter  brought  the 
walnut  and  chestnut  vendors. 

Of  the  permanent  tenants  in  the  first  courtyard, 
those  who  were  intimate  with  Senor  Ignacio  in- 
cluded: a  proof-corrector,  nick-named  El  Corretor; 
a  certain  Rebolledo,  both  barber  and  inventor,  and 
four  blind  men,  who  were  known  by  the  sobriquets  El 
Calabazas,  El  Sapistas,  El  Brigido  and  El  Cuco  and 
dwelt  in  harmony  with  their  respective  wives  playing 
the  latest  tangos,  tlentos  and  zarzuela  ditties  on  the 
streets. 

The  proof-reader  had  a  numerous  family:  his 
wife,  his  mother-in-law,  a  daughter  of  twenty  and  a 
litter  of  tots;  the  pay  he  earned  correcting  proof  at 
a  newspaper  office  was  not  enough  for  his  needs  and 
he  used  to  suffer  dire  straits.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  wearing  a  threadbare  macfarland, — frayed  at  the 
edges, — a  large,  dirty  handkerchief  tied  around  his 
throat,  and  a  soft,  yellow,  grimy  slouch  hat. 

His  daughter,  Milagros  by  name,  a  slender  lass  as 


82  THE   QUEST 

sleek  as  a  bird,  had  relations  with  Leandro,  Manuel's 
cousin. 

The  sweethearts  had  plenty  of  love  quarrels,  now 
because  of  her  flirtations,  now  because  of  the  evil 
life  he  led. 

They  could  not  get  along,  for  Milagros  was  a  bit 
haughty  and  a  climber,  considering  herself  a  social 
superior  fallen  upon  evil  days,  while  Leandro,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  abrupt  and  irascible. 

The  cobbler's  other  neighbour,  Senor  Zurro,  a 
quaint,  picturesque  type,  had  nothing  to  do  with 
Senor  Ignacio  and  felt  for  the  proof-reader  a  most 
cordial  hatred.  El  Zurro  went  about  forever  con- 
cealed behind  a  pair  of  blue  spectacles,  wearing  a 
fur  cap  and  ample  cassock. 

"His  name  is  Zurro  (fox),"  the  proof-reader 
would  say,  "but  he's  a  fox  in  his  actions  as  well;  one 
of  those  country  foxes  that  are  masters  of  malice 
and  trickery." 

According  to  popular  rumour,  El  Zurro  knew 
what  he  was  about;  he  had  a  place  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  Rastro,  a  dark,  pestilent  hovel  cluttered  with 
odds  and  ends,  second-hand  coats,  remnants  of  old 
cloth,  tapestries,  parts  of  chasubles,  and  in  addition, 
empty  bottles,  flasks  full  of  brandy  and  cognac,  selt- 
zer water  siphons,  shattered  clocks,  rusty  muskets, 
keys,  pistols,  buttons,  medals  and  other  frippery. 

Despite  the  fact  that  surely  no  more  than  a 
couple  of  persons  entered  Senor  Zurro's  shop 
throughout  the  livelong  day  and  spent  no  more  than 
a  couple  of  reales,  the  second-hand  dealer  thrived. 

He  lived  with  his  daughter  Encarna,  a  coarse 


THE    "BIG   YARD'  83 

specimen  of  some  twenty-five  years,  exceedingly  vul- 
gar and  the  personification  of  insolence,  who  went 
walking  with  her  father  on  Sundays,  bedecked  with 
jewelry.  Encarna's  bosom  was  consumed  with 
the  fires  of  passion  for  Leandro;  but  that  ingrate, 
enamoured  of  Milagros,  was  unscathed  by  the  soul- 
flames  of  the  second-hand  dealer's  daughter. 

Wherefore  Encarna  mortally  hated  Milagros  and 
the  members  of  her  family;  every  hour  of  the  day 
she  branded  them  as  vulgarians,  starvelings,  and 
insulted  them  with  such  scoffing  sobriquets  as  Men- 
drugo,  "Beggar's  Crumb,"  which  was  applied  by  her 
to  the  proof-reader,  and  "The  Madwoman  of  the 
Vatican,"  which  meant  his  daughter. 

It  was  not  at  all  rare  for  such  hatreds,  between 
persons  forced  almost  into  living  in  common,  to  grow 
to  violent  rancour  and  malevolence;  thus,  the  mem- 
bers of  one  and  the  other  family  never  looked  at  each 
other  without  exchanging  curses  and  wishes  for  the 
most  disastrous  misfortunes. 


CHAPTER  III 

Roberto  Hastings  at  the  Shoemaker's — Procession  of  Beg- 
gars— Court  of  Miracles. 

ONE  morning  toward  the  end  of  September 
Roberto  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  The 
Regeneration  of  Footwear,  and  thrusting 
Jiis  head  into  the  shop  exclaimed: 

"Hello,  Manuel!" 

"Hello,  Don  Roberto!" 

"Working,  eh?" 

Manuel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  indicating  that 
the  job  was  not  exactly  to  his  taste. 

Roberto  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  at  last  made 
up  his  mind  and  entered  the  shop. 

"Have  a  seat,"  invited  Sefior  Ignacio,  offering 
him  a  chair. 

"Are  you  Manuel's  uncle?" 

"At  your  service." 

Roberto  sat  down,  offered  a  cigar  to  Sefior 
Ignacio  and  another  to  Leandro,  and  the  three  began 
to  smoke. 

"I  know  your  nephew,"  said  Roberto  to  the  pro- 
prietor, "for  I  live  in  the  house  where  Petra  works." 

"You  do?" 

"And  I  wish  you'd  let  him  off  today  for  a  couple 
of  hours." 

"All  right,  sefior.     All  afternoon,  if  you  wish." 
84 


ROBERTO   HASTINGS          85 

"Fine.     Then  I'll  call  for  him  after  lunch." 

"Very  well." 

Roberto  watched  them  work  for  a  while,  then  sud- 
denly jumped  up  and  left. 

Manuel  could  not  understand  what  Roberto 
wanted,  and  in  the  afternoon  waited  for  him  with 
genuine  impatience.  Roberto  came,  and  the  pair 
turned  out  of  Aguila  Street  down  toward  the  Ronda 
de  Segovia. 

"Do  you  know  where  La  Doctrina  is?"  Roberto 
asked  Manuel. 

"What  Doctrina?" 

"A  place  where  herds  of  beggars  meet  every  Fri- 
day." 

"I  don't  know." 

"Do  you  know  where  the  San  Isidro  highway  is?" 

"Yes." 

"Good.  For  that's  where  we're  going.  That's 
where  La  Doctrina  is.  " 

Manuel  and  Roberto  walked  down  the  Paseo  de 
los  Pontones  and  continued  in  the  direction  of 
Toledo  Bridge.  The  student  was  silent  and 
Manuel  did  not  care  to  ask  any  questions. 

It  was  a  dry,  dusty  day.  The  stifling  south  wind 
whirled  puffs  of  heat  and  sand;  a  stray  bolt  of 
lightning  illuminated  the  clouds;  from  the  distance 
came  the  rumble  of  thunder;  the  landscape  lay  yel- 
low under  a  blanket  of  dust. 

Over  the  Toledo  Bridge  trudged  a  procession  of 
beggars,  both  men  and  women,  each  dirtier  and  more 
tattered  than  the  next.  Out  of  las  Cambroneras 
and  las  Injurias  streamed  recruits  for  this  ragged 


86  THEQUEST 

army;  they  came,  too,  from  the  Paseo  Imperial  and 
from  Ocho  Hilos,  and  by  this  time  forming  solid 
ranks,  they  trooped  on  to  the  Toledo  Bridge  and 
tramped  up  the  San  Isidro  highway  until  they 
reached  a  red  edifice,  before  which  they  came  to  a 
halt. 

"This  must  be  La  Doctrina,"  said  Roberto  to 
Manuel,  pointing  to  a  building  that  had  a  patio  with 
a  statue  of  Christ  in  the  centre. 

The  two  friends  drew  near  to  the  gate.  ,  This  was 
a  beggars'  conclave,  a  Court  of  Miracles  assembly. 
The  women  took  up  almost  the  entire  courtyard;  at 
one  end,  near  a  chapel,  the  men  were  huddled  to- 
gether; one  could  see  nothing  but  swollen,  stupid 
faces,  inflamed  nostrils,  and  twisted  mouths;  old 
women  as  fat  and  clumsy  as  melancholy  whales; 
little  wizened,  cadaverous  hags  with  sunken  mouths 
and  noses  like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey;  shame- 
faced female  mendicants,  their  wrinkled  chins  bris- 
tling with  hair,  their  gaze  half  ironical  and  half  shy; 
young  women,  thin  and  emaciated,  slatternly  and 
filthy;  and  all,  young  and  old  alike,  clad  in  thread- 
bare garments  that  had  been  mended,  patched  and 
turned  inside  out  until  there  wasn't  a  square  inch  that 
had  been  left  untouched.  The  green,  olive-coloured 
cloaks  and  the  drab  city  garb  jostled  against  the  red 
and  yellow  short  skirts  of  the  countrywomen. 

Roberto  sauntered  about,  peering  eagerly  into  the 
courtyard.  Manuel  trailed  after  him  indifferently. 

A  large  number  of  the  beggars  was  blind;  there 
were  cripples,  minus  hand  or  foot,  some  hieratic, 
taciturn,  solemn,  others  restless.  Brown  long- 
sleeved  loose  coats  mingled  with  frayed  sack-coats 


ROBERTO   HASTINGS          87 

and  begrimed  smocks.  Some  of  the  men  in  tatters 
carried,  slung  over  their  shoulders,  black  sacks  and 
game-bags;  others  huge  cudgels  in  their  hands;  one 
burly  negro,  his  face  tattooed  with  deep  stripes, — 
doubtless  a  slave  in  former  days, — leaned  against 
the  wall  in  dignified  indifference,  clothed  in  rags; 
barefoot  urchins  and  mangy  dogs  scampered  about 
amongst  the  men  and  women;  the  swarming,  agi- 
tated, palpitating  throng  of  beggars  seethed  like  an 
anthill. 

"Let's  go,"  said  Roberto.  "Neither  of  the 
women  I'm  looking  for  is  here.  .  .  .  Did  you  no- 
tice," he  added,  "how  few  human  faces  there  are  X 
among  men!  All  you  can  read  in  the  features  of 
these  wretches  is  mistrust,  abjection,  malice,  just  as 
among  the  rich  you  find  only  solemnity,  gravity, 
pedantry.  It's  curious,  isn't  it?  All  cats  have  the 
face  of  cats;  all  oxen  look  like  oxen;  while  the  ma- 
jority of  human  beings  haven't  a  human  semblance." 

Roberto  and  Manuel  left  the  patio.  They  sat 
down  opposite  La  Doctrina,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  amid  some  sandy  clearings. 

"These  doings  of  mine,"  began  Roberto,  "may 
strike  you  as  queer.  But  they  won't  seem  so  strange 
when  I  tell  you  that  I'm  looking  for  two  women 
here;  one  of  them  a  poor  beggar  who  can  make  me 
rich ;  the  other,  a  rich  lady,  who  perhaps  would  make 
me  poor." 

Manuel  stared  at  Roberto  in  amazement.  He 
had  always  harboured  a  certain  suspicion  that  there 
was  something  wrong  with  the  student's  head. 

"No.     Don't  imagine  this  is  silly  talk.     I'm  on 


88  THEQUEST 

the  trail  of  a  fortune, — a  huge  fortune.  If  you  help 
me,  I'll  remember  you." 

"Sure.     What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"I'll  tell  you  when  the  right  moment  comes." 

Manuel  could  not  conceal  an  ironic  smile. 

"You  don't  believe  it,"  muttered  Roberto. 
"That  doesn't  matter.  When  you'll  see,  you'll  be- 
lieve." 

"Naturally." 

"If  I  should  happen  to  need  you,  promise  you'll 
help  me." 

"I'll  help  you  as  far  as  I  am  able,"  replied  Man- 
uel, with  feigned  earnestness. 

Several  ragamuffins  sprawled  themselves  out  on 
the  clearing  near  Manuel  and  Roberto,  and  the 
student  did  not  care  to  go  on  with  his  tale. 

"They've  already  begun  to  split  up  into  divi- 
sions," said  one  of  the  loafers  who  wore  a  coach- 
man's hat,  pointing  with  a  stick  to  the  women  inside 
the  courtyard  of  La  Doctrina. 

And  so  it  was;  groups  were  clustering  about  the 
trees  of  the  patio,  on  each  of  which  was  hung  a 
poster  with  a  picture  and  a  number  in  the  middle. 

"There  go  the  marchionesses,"  added  he  of  the 
coachman's  hat,  indicating  several  women  garbed  in 
black  who  had  just  appeared  in  the  courtyard. 

The  white  faces  stood  out  amidst  the  mourning 
clothes. 

"They're  all  marchionesses,"  said  one. 

"Well,  they're  not  all  beauties,"  retorted  Man- 
uel, joining  the  conversation.  "What  have  they 
come  here  for?" 


ROBERTO   HASTINGS         89 

"They're  the  ones  who  teach  religion,"  answered 
the  fellow  with  the  hat.  "From  time  to  time  they 
hand  out  sheets  and  underwear  to  the  women  and 
the  men.  Now  they're  going  to  call  the  roll." 

A  bell  began  to  clang;  the  gate  closed;  groups 
were  formed,  and  a  lady  entered  the  midst  of  each. 

"Do  you  see  that  one  there?"  asked  Roberto. 
"She's  Don  Telmo's  niece." 

"That  blonde?" 

"Yes.     Wait  for  me  here." 

Roberto  walked  down  the  road  toward  the  gate. 

The  reading  of  the  religious  lesson  began;  from 
the  patio  came  the  slow,  monotonous  drone  of 
prayer. 

Manuel  lay  back  on  the  ground.  Yonder,  flat 
beneath  the  grey  horizon,  loomed  Madrid  out  of  the 
mist  of  the  dust-laden  atmosphere.  The  wide  bed 
of  the  Manzanares  river,  ochre-hued,  seemed  fur- 
rowed here  and  there  by  a  thread  of  dark  water. 
The  ridges  of  the  Guadarrama  range  rose  hazily 
into  the  murky  air. 

Roberto  passed  by  the  patio.  The  humming  of 
the  praying  mendicants  continued.  An  old  lady,  her 
head  swathed  in  a  red  kerchief  and  her  shoulders 
covered  with  a  black  cloak  that  was  fading  to  green, 
sat  down  in  the  clearing. 

"What's  the  matter,  old  lady?  Wouldn't  they 
open  the  gate  for  you?"  shouted  the  fellow  with  the 
coachman's  hat. 

"No  .  .  .  The  foul  old  witches!" 

"Don't  you  care.  They're  not  giving  away  any- 
thing today.  The  distribution  takes  place  this 


90  THE   QUEST 

coming  Friday.  They'll  give  you  at  least  a  sheet," 
added  he  of  the  hat  mischievously. 

"If  they  don't  give  me  anything  more  than  a 
sheet,"  shrilled  the  hag,  twisting  her  blobber-lip, 
"I'll  tell  them  to  keep  it  for  themselves.  The  foxy 
creatures!  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  they've  found  you  out,  granny!"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  loafers  lying  on  the  ground.  "You're  a 
greedy  one,  you  are." 

The  bystanders  applauded  these  words,  which 
came  from  a  zarzuela,  and  the  chap  in  the  coach- 
man's hat  continued  explaining  to  Manuel  the  work- 
ings of  La  Doctrina. 

"There  are  some  men  and  women  who  enrol  in 
two  and  even  three  divisions  so  as  to  get  all  the  char- 
ity they  can,"  he  went  on.  "Why,  we — my  father 
and  I — once  enrolled  in  four  divisions  under  four 
different  names.  .  .  .  And  what  a  rumpus  was 
raised!  What  a  row  we  had  with  the  marchion- 
esses!" 

"And  what  did  you  want  with  all  those  sheets," 
Manuel  asked  him. 

"Why!  Sell  'em,  of  course.  They're  sold 
here  at  the  very  gate  at  two  chutes  apiece." 

"I'm  going  to  buy  one,"  said  a  coachman  from  a 
nearby  hackstand,  approaching  the  group.  "I'll 
give  it  a  coating  of  linseed  oil,  then  varnish  it  and 
make  me  a  cowled  waterproof." 

"But  the  marchionesses, — don't  they  see  that 
these  people  sell  their  gifts  right  away?" 

"Much  they  see !" 

To  these  idlers  the  whole  business  was  nothing 


ROBERTO   HASTINGS          91 

more  than  a  pious  recreation  of  the  religious  ladies, 
of  whom  they  spoke  with  patronizing  irony. 

The  reading  of  the  religious  lesson  did  not  last 
quite  an  hour. 

A  bell  rang;  the  gate  was  swung  open;  the  various 
groups  dissolved  and  merged;  everybody  arose  and 
the  women  began  to  walk  off,  balancing  their  chairs 
upon  their  heads,  shouting,  shoving  one  another 
violently;  two  or  three  huckstresses  peddled  their 
wares  as  the  tattered  crowd  issued  through  the  gate 
in  a  jam,  shrieking  as  if  in  escape  from  some  immi- 
nent danger.  A  few  old  women  ran  clumsily  down 
the  road;  others  huddled  into  a  corner  to  urinate, 
and  all  of  them  were  howling  at  the  top  of  their 
lungs,  overcome  by  the  necessity  of  insulting  the 
women  of  La  Doctrina,  as  if  instinctively  they  di- 
vined the  uselessness  of  a  sham  charity  that  rem-  )( 
edied  nothing.  One  heard  only  protests  and 
manifestation  of  scorn. 

"Damn  it  all !     These  women  of  God  .  .  ." 

"And  they  want  a  body  to  have  faith  in  'em." 

"The  old  drunkards." 

"Let  them  have  faith,  and  the  mother  that  bore 
'em." 

"Let  'em  give  blood-pudding  to  everybody." 

After  the  women  came  the  men, — blind,  maimed, 
crippled, — in  leisurely  fashion,  and  conversing 
solemnly. 

"Huh!  They  don't  want  me  to  marry!"  grum- 
bled a  blind  fellow,  sarcastically,  turning  to  a 
cripple. 

"And  what  do  you  say,"asked  the  latter. 


92  THEQUEST 

"I?  What  the  deuce  I  Let  them  get  married  if 
they  have  any  one  to  marry  'em.  They  came  here 
and  bore  us  stiff  with  their  prayers  and  sermons. 
What  we  need  isn't  sermons,  but  hard  cash  and 
plenty  of  it." 

"That's  what,  man  .  ,  .  the  dough, — that's  what 
we  want." 

"And  all  the  rest  Is  nothing  but  .  .  .  chatter 
and  chin  music.  .  •  *  Anybody  can  give  advice. 
When  it  comes  to  bread,  though,  not  a  sign  of 
it." 

"So  say  I!" 

The  ladies  came  out,  prayer-books  in  hand;  the 
old  beggar-women  set  off  in  pursuit  and  harassed 
them  with  entreaties. 

Manuel  looked  everywhere  for  the  student;  at 
last  he  caught  sight  of  him  with  Don  Telmo's  niece. 
The  blonde  turned  around  to  look  at  him,  and  then 
stepped  into  a  coach.  Roberto  saluted  her  and  the 
coach  rolled  off. 

Manuel  and  Roberto  returned  by  the  San  Isidro 
highway. 

The  sky  was  still  overcast;  the  air  dry;  the  pro- 
cession of  beggars  was  advancing  in  the  direction  of 
Madrid.  Before  they  reached  the  Toledo  Bridge, 
at  the  intersection  of  the  San  Isidro  highway  and 
the  Extremadura  cartroad,  Roberto  and  Manuel 
entered  a  very  large  tavern.  Roberto  ordered  a 
bottle  of  beer. 

"Do  you  live  in  the  same  house  where  the  shoe 
shop  is?"  asked  Roberto. 


ROBERTO   HASTINGS         93 

"No.  I  live  over  in  the  Paseo  de  las  Acacias,  in 
a  house  called  El  Corralon." 

"Good.  I'll  come  to  visit  you  there,  and  you 
already  understand  that  whenever  you  happen  to  go 
to  any  place  where  poor  folk  or  criminals  gather, 
you're  to  let  me  know." 

"I'll  let  you  know.  I  was  watching  that  blonde 
eye  you.  She's  pretty," 

"Yes." 

"And  she  has  a  swell  coach." 

"I  should  say  so." 

"Well?     Are  you  going  to  marry  her?" 

"What  do  I  know?  We'll  see.  Come,  we  can't 
stay  here,"  said  Roberto,  stepping  up  to  the  counter 
to  pay. 

In  the  tavern  a  large  number  of  beggars,  seated 
at  the  tables,  were  gulping  down  slices  of  cod  and 
scraps  of  meat;  a  piquant  odour  of  fried  bird-tripe 
and  oil  came  from  the  kitchen. 

They  left.  The  wind  still  blew  in  eddies  of  sand; 
dry  leaves  and  stray  bits  of  newspaper  danced  madly 
through  the  air;  the  high  houses  near  the  Segovia 
Bridge,  their  narrow  windows  and  galleries  hung 
with  tatters,  seemed  greyer  and  more  sordid  than 
ever  when  glimpsed  through  an  atmosphere  murky 
with  dust. 

Suddenly  Roberto  halted,  and  placing  his  hand 
upon  Manuel's  shoulder  said: 

"Listen  to  what  I  say,  for  it  is  the  truth.  If  youl 
ever  want  to  accomplish  anything  in  life,  place  no/ 
belief  in  the  word  'impossible.'  There's  nothing  im- 


94  THE   QUEST 

possible  to  an  energetic  will.  If  you  try  to  shoot  an 
arrow,  aim  very  high, — as  high  as  you  can;  the 
higher  you  aim,  the  farther  you'll  go." 

Manuel  stared  at  Roberto  with  a  puzzled  look, 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Life  In  the  Cobbler's  Shop — Manuel's  Friends. 

THE  months  of  September  and  October  were 
very  hot;  it  was  impossible  to  breathe  in 
the  shoe  shop. 

Every  morning  Manuel  and  Vidal,  on  their  way  to 
the  shoemaker's,  would  talk  of  a  thousand  different 
things  and  exchange  impressions;  money,  women, 
plans  for  the  future  formed  everlasting  themes  of 
their  chats.  To  both  it  seemed  a  great  sacrifice, 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  crowning  misfortune  in 
their  bad  luck,  to  have  to  spend  day  after  day  cooped 
up  in  a  corner  ripping  off  outworn  soles. 

The  languorous  afternoons  invited  to  slumber. 
After  lunch  especially,  Manuel  would  be  overcome 
by  stupor  and  deep  depression.  Through  the  door- 
way of  the  shop  could  be  seen  the  fields  of  San  Isidro 
bathed  in  light;  in  the  Campillo  de  Gil  Imon  the 
wash  hung  out  to  dry  gleamed  in  the  sun. 

There  came  a  medley  of  crowing  cocks,  far-off 
shouts  of  vendors,  the  shrieking  of  locomotive 
whistles  muffled  by  the  distance.  The  dry,  burning, 
atmosphere  vibrated.  A  few  women  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood came  out  to  comb  their  hair  in  the  open, 
and  the  mattress-makers  beat  their  wool  in  the  shade 
of  the  Campillo,  while  the  hens  scampered  about  and 
scratched  the  soil. 

95 


96  THEQUEST 

Later,  as  evening  fell,  the  air  and  the  earth 
changed  to  a  dusty  grey.  In  the  distance,  cutting 
the  horizon,  waved  the  outline  of  the  arid  field, — a 
simple  line,  formed  by  the  gentle  undulation  of  the 
hillocks, — a  line  like  that  of  the  landscapes  drawn  by 
children,  with  isolated  houses  and  smoking  chim- 
neys. Here  and  there  a  lone  patch  of  green  grove 
splotched  against  the  yellow  field,  which  lay  parched 
by  the  sun  beneath  a  pallid  sky,  whitish  and  murky 
in  the  hot  vapours  rising  from  the  earth.  Not  a 
cry,  not  the  slightest  sound  rent  the  air. 

At  dusk  the  mist  grew  transparent  and  the  horizon 
receded  until,  far  in  the  distance,  loomed  the  vague 
silhouettes  of  mountains  not  to  be  glimpsed  by  day, 
against  the  red  background  of  the  twilight. 

When  they  left  off  working  in  the  shop  it  was 
usually  night.  Senor  Ignacio,  Leandro,  Manuel 
and  Vidal  would  turn  down  the  road  toward  home. 

The  gas  lights  shone  at  intervals  in  the  dusty  air; 
lines  of  carts  rumbled  slowly  by,  and  across  the  road,, 
in  little  groups,  tramped  the  workmen  from  the 
neighbouring  factories. 

And  always,  coming  and  going,  the  conversation 
between  Manuel  and  Vidal  would  turn  upon  the 
same  topics :  women  and  money. 

Neither  had  a  romantic  notion,  or  anything  like 
it,  of  women.  To  Manuel,  a  woman  was  a  mag- 
nificent animal  with  firm  flesh  and  swelling  breast. 
Vidal  did  not  share  this  sexual  enthusiasm;  he  ex- 
perienced, with  all  women,  a  confused  feeling  of 
scorn,  curiosity  and  preoccupation. 
X^  As  far  as  concerned  money,  they  were  both  agreed 


LIFE   IN   COBBLER'S   SHOP     97 

that  it  was  the  choicest,  most  admirable  of  all 
things;  they  spoke  of  money — especially  Vidal — 
with  a  fierce  enthusiasm.  To  him,  the  thought  that 
there  might'  be  anything — good  or  evil — that  could 
not  be  obtained  with  hard  cash,  was  the  climax  of 
absurdity.  Manuel  would  like  to  have  money  to 
travel  all  over  the  world  and  see  cities  and  more 
cities  and  sail  in  vessels.  Vidal's  dream  was  to  live 
a  life  of  ease  in  Madrid. 

After  two  or  three  months  in  the  Corralon,  Mari- 
uel  had  become  so  accustomed  to  the  work  and  the 
life  there  that  he  wondered  how  he  could  do  any- 
thing else.  Those  wretched  quarters  no  longer 
produced  upon  him  the  impression  of  dark,  sinister 
sadness  that  they  cause  in  one  unaccustomed  to  live 
in  them;  on  the  contrary,  they  seemed  to  him  filled 
with  attractions.  He  knew  almost  everybody  in  the 
district.  Vidal  and  he  would  escape  from  the  house 
on  any  pretext  at  all,  and  on  Sundays  they  would 
meet  Bizco  at  the  Casa  del  Cabrero  and  go  off  into 
the  environs :  to  Las  Injurias,  Las  Cambroneras,  the 
restaurants  of  Alarcon,  the  Campamento,  and  the 
inns  on  the  Andalucia  road,  where  they  would  con- 
sort with  thieves  and  rogues  and  play  with  them  at 
cane  and  rayuela. 

Manuel  did  not  care  for  Bizco's  company;  Bizco 
sought  only  to  hobnob  with  thieves.  He  was  for- 
ever taking  Manuel  and  Vidal  to  haunts  frequented 
by  bandits  and  low  types,  but  since  Vidal  seemed  to 
think  it  all  right,  Manuel  never  objected. 

Vidal  was  the  link  between  Manuel  and  Bizco, 
Bizco  hated  Manuel,  who  in  turn,  not  only  felt 


98  THE   QUEST 

enmity  and  repugnance  for  Bizco,  but  showed  this 
repulsion  plainly.  Bizco  was  a  brute, — an  animal 
deserving  of  extermination.  As  lascivious  as  a 
monkey,  he  had  violated  several  of  the  little  girls  of 
the  Casa  del  Cabrero,  beating  them  into  submission; 
he  used  to  rob  his  father,  a  poverty-stricken  cane- 
weaver,  so  that  he  might  have  money  enough  to  visit 
some  low  brothel  of  Las  Penuelas  or  on  Chopa 
Street,  where  he  found  rouged  dowagers  with  ciga- 
rette-stubs in  their  lips,  who  looked  like  princesses 
to  him.  His  narrow  skull,  his  powerful  jaw,  his 
blubber-lip,  his  stupid  glance,  lent  him  a  look  of  re- 
pellant  brutality  and  animality. 

A  primitive  man,  he  kept  his  dagger — bought  in 
El  Rastro — sharp,  guarding  it  as  a  sacred  object. 
If  he  ever  happened  across  a  cat  or  dog,  he  would 
enjoy  torturing  it  to  death  with  oft-repeated  stabs. 
His  speech  was  obscene,  abounding  in  barbarities 
and  blasphemies. 

Whether  anybody  induced  Bizco  to  tattoo  his 
arms,  or  the  idea  was  original  with  him,  cannot  be 
said;  probably  the  tattooing  he  had  seen  on  one  of 
the  bandits  that  he  ran  after  had  suggested  a  similar 
adornment  for  himself.  Vidal  imitated  him,  and 
for  a  time  the  pair  gave  themselves  up  enthusiastic- 
ally to  self-tattooing.  They  pricked  their  skins 
with  a  pin  until  a  little  blood  came,  then  moistened 
the  wounds  with  ink. 

Bizco  painted  crosses,  stars  and  names  upon  his 
chest;  Vidal,  who  didn't  like  to  prick  himself,  stip- 
pled his  own  name  on  one  arm  and  his  sweetheart's 


LIFE   IN    COBBLER'S    SHOP     99 

on  the  other;  Manuel  didn't  care  to  inscribe  anything 
upon  his  person,  first  because  he  was  afraid  of 
blood,  and  then  because  the  idea  had  been  Bizco's. 

Each  harboured  a  mute  hostility  against  the  other. 

Manuel,  always  with  a  chip  on  his  shoulder,  was 
disposed  to  show  his  enemy  challenge ;  Bizco,  doubt- 
less, noticed  this  scornful  hatred  in  Manuel's  eyes, 
and  this  confused  him. 

To  Manuel,  a  man's  superiority  consisted  in  his  v 
talent,   and,   above   all,   in  his   cunning;   to   Bizco,^ 
courage  and  strength  constituted  the  sole  enviable 
qualities;  the  greatest  merit  of  all  was  to  be  a  real 
brute,  as  he  would  declare  with  enthusiasm. 

Because  of  the  great  esteem  in  which  he  held  craft 
and  cunning,  Manuel  felt  deep  admiration  for  the 
Rebolledos,  father  and  son,  who  also  lived  in  the 
Corralon.  The  father,  a  dwarfed  hunchback,  a 
barber  by  trade,  used  to  shave  his  customers  in  the 
sunlight  of  the  open,  near  the  Rastro.  This  dwarf 
had  a  very  intelligent  face,  with  deep  eyes;  he  wore 
moustache  and  side-whiskers,  and  long,  bluish,  un- 
washed hair.  He  dressed  always  in  mourning;  in 
winter  and  summer  alike  he  went  around  in  an 
overcoat,  and,  by  some  unsolved  mystery  of  chem- 
istry his  overcoat  kept  turning  green  while  his 
trousers,  which  were  also  black,  kept  quite  as  plainly 
turning  red. 

Every  morning  Rebolledo  would  leave  the  Corral- 
on  carrying  a  little  bench  and  a  wooden  wall-bracket, 
from  which  hung  a  brass  basin  and  a  poster. 
Reaching  a  certain  spot  along  the  Americas  fence 


ioo  THE   QUEST 

he  would  attach  the  bracket  and  put  up,  beside 
it,  a  humorous  sign  the  point  of  which,  probably, 
he  was  the  only  one  to  see.  It  ran  thus : 

MODERNIST  TONSORIAL  PARLOUR 

Antiseptic  Barber 

Walk  in  Gents.     Shaving  by  Rebolledo. 
Money  Lent 

The  Rebolledos  were  very  skilful;  they  made 
toys  of  wire  and  of  pastebcrard,  which  they  after- 
ward sold  to  the  street-vendors;  their  home,  a 
dingy  little  room  of  the  front  patio,  had  been 
converted  into  a  workshop,  and  they  had  there 
a  vise,  a  carpenter's  bench  and  an  array  of  broken 
gew-gaws  that  were  apparently  of  no  further  use. 

The  neighbours  of  the  Corralon  had  a  saying  that 
indicated  their  conception  of  Rebolledo's  acute 
genius. 

"That  dwarf,"  they  said,  "has  a  regular  Noah's 
ark  in  his  head." 

The  father  had  made  for  his  own  use  a  set  of 
false  teeth.  He  had  taken  a  bone  napkin-ring,  cut 
it  into  two  unequal  parts,  and,  by  filing  it  on  either 
side,  had  fitted  the  larger  to  his  mouth.  Then  with 
a  tiny  saw  he  made  the  teeth,  and  to  simulate  the 
gums  he  covered  a  part  of  the  former  napkin-ring 
with  sealing-wax.  Rebolledo  could  remove  and  in- 
sert the  false  set  with  remarkable  ease,  and  he  could 
eat  with  them  perfectly,  provided,  as  he  said,  there 
was  anything  to  eat. 

Perico,  the  son  of  the  dwarf,  promised  even  to 


LIFE   IN   COBBLER'S   SHOP  101 

outstrip  his  father  in  cleverness.  Between  the 
hunger  that  he  often  suffered,  and  the  persistent 
tertian  fevers,  he  was  very  thin  and  his  complexion 
was  citreous.  He  was  not,  like  his  father,  de- 
formed, but  slender,  delicate,  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  rapid,  jerky  motions.  He  looked,  as  the  saying 
is,  like  a  rat  under  a  bowl. 

One  of  the  proofs  of  his  inventive  genius  was  a 
mechanical  snuffler  that  he  had  made  of  a  shoe- 
polish  tin. 

Perico  cherished  a  particular  enthusiasm  for  white 
walls,  and  wherever  he  discovered  one  he  would 
sketch,  with  a  piece  of  coal,  processions  of  men, 
women  and  horses,  houses  puffing  smoke,  soldiers, 
vessels  at  sea,  weaklings  engaging  in  struggle  with  ;'. 
burly  giants,  and  other  equally  diverting  scenes. 

Perico's  masterpiece  wa's  the  Don  Tancredo  trip- 
tych, done  in  coal  on  the  walls  of  the  narrow  en- 
trance lane  to  La  Corrala.  This  work  overwhelmed 
the  neighbours  with  admiration  and  astonishment. 
The  first  part  of  the  triptych  showed  the  valiant  hyp- 
notizer  of  bulls  on  his  way  to  the  bull-ring,  in  the 
midst  of  a  great  troop  of  horsemen;  the  legend 
read:  "Don  Tancredo  on  his  weigh  to  the  bulls." 
The  second  part  represented  the  "king  of  bravery" 
in  his  three-cornered  hat,  with  his  arms  folded  de- 
fiantly before  the  wild  beast;  underneath,  the  rubric 
"Don  Tancredo  upon  his  pedestal."  Under  the 
third  part  one  read:  "The  bull  takes  to  flight." 
The  depiction  of  this  final  scene  was  noteworthy; 
the  bull  was  seen  fleeing  as  one  possessed  of  the  devil 
amidst  the  toreros,  whose  noses  were  visible  in 


102  THE   QUEST 

profile  while  their  mouths  and  both  eyes  were  drawn 
in  front  view. 

Despite  his  triumphs,  Perico  Rebolledo  did  not 
grow  vain,  nor  did  he  consider  himself  superior  to 
the  men  of  his  generation;  his  greatest  pleasure  was 
to  sit  down  at  his  father's  side  in  the  patio  of  La 
Corrala,  amidst  the  works  of  old  clocks,  bunches 
of  keys  and  other  grimy,  damaged  articles,  and 
ponder  over  the  possible  utilization  of  an  eye-glass 
crystal,  for  example,  or  a  truss,  or  the  rubber  bulb 
of  a  syringe,  or  some  similar  broken,  out-of-order 
contrivance. 

Father  and  son  spent  their  lives  dreaming  of 
mechanical  contraptions;  they  considered  nothing 
useless;  the  key  that  could  open  no  door,  the  old- 
style  coffee-pot,  as  queer  as  some  laboratory  instru- 
ment, the  oil  lamp  with  machine  attachment, — all 
these  articles  were  treasured  up,  taken  apart  and 
put  to  some  use.  Rebolledo,  father  and  son,  wasted 
more  ingenuity  in  living  wretchedly  than  is  employed 
by  a  couple  of  dozen  comic  authors,  journalists  and 
state  ministers  dwelling  in  luxury. 

Among  the  friends  of  Perico  Rebolledo  were  the 
Aristas,  who  became  intimate  with  Manuel. 

The  Aristas,  two  brothers,  sons  of  an  ironing- 
woman,  were  apprentices  in  a  foundry  of  the  near-by 
Ronda.  The  younger  passed  his  days  in  a  continu- 
ous capering,  indulging  in  death-defying  leaps,  climb- 
ing trees,  walking  on  his  hands  and  performing  ac- 
robatic stunts  from  all  the  door  transoms. 

The  elder  brother,  a  long-legged  stutterer  whom 
they  called  Ariston  in  jest,  was  the  most  funereal 


LIFE   IN    COBBLER'S    SHOP  103 

fellow  on  the  planet;  he  suffered  from  acute  necro- 
mania;  anything  connected  with  coffins,  corpses, 
wakes  and  candles  roused  his  enthusiasm.  He 
would  like  to  have  been  a  gravedigger,  the  priest  of 
a  religious  confraternity,  a  cemetery  warden;  but  his 
great  dream, — what  most  enchanted  him, — was  a 
funeral;  he  would  imagine,  as  a  wonderful  ideal, 
the  conversations  that  the  proprietor  of  a  funeral 
establishment  must  have  with  the  father  or  the  in- 
consolable widow  as  he  offered  wreaths  of  immor- 
telles, or  as  he  went  to  take  the  measure  of  a  corpse 
or  strolled  amidst  the  coffins.  What  a  splendid  ex- 
istence, this  manufacturing  of  last  resting-places  for 
men,  women  and  children,  and  afterward  accompany- 
ing them  to  the  burial-ground.  For  Ariston,  de- 
tails relating  to  death  were  the  most  important 
matter  in  life. 

Through  that  irony  of  fate  which  almost  always 
exchanges  the  proper  labels  of  things  and  persons, 
Ariston  was  a  supernumerary  in  one  of  the  vaude- 
ville theatres,  through  the  influence  of  his  father, 
who  was  a  scene-shifter,  and  the  job  disgusted  him, 
for  in  such  a  playhouse  nobody  ever  died  upon  the 
stage,  nobody  ever  came  out  in  mourning  and  there 
was  no  weeping.  And  while  Ariston  kept  thinking 
of  nothing  but  funereal  scenes,  his  brother  dreamed 
of  circuses,  trapezes  and  acrobats,  hoping  that  some 
day  fate  would  send  him  the  means  to  cultivate  his 
gymnastic  talents. 


CHAPTER  V 

La  Blasa's  Tavern. 

THE  frequent  quarrels  between  Leandro  and 
his  sweetheart,  the  Corrector's  daughter, 
very  often  gave  the  neighbours  of  the 
Corrala  food  for  gossip.  Leandro  was  an  ill-tem- 
pered, quarrelsome  sort;  his  brutal  instincts  were 
quickly  awakened;  despite  his  habit  of  going  every 
Saturday  night  to  the  taverns  and  restaurants,  ready 
for  a  rumpus  with  the  bullies  and  the  ruffians,  he  had 
thus  far  managed  to  steer  clear  of  any  disagreeable 
accident.  His  sweetheart  was  somewhat  pleased 
with  this  display  of  valour;  her  mother,  however, 
regarded  it  with  genuine  indignation,  and  was  for- 
ever advising  her  daughter  to  dismiss  her  Leandro 
for  good. 

The  girl  would  dismiss  her  lover;  but  afterwards, 
when  he  returned  in  humility,  ready  to  accede  to  any 
conditions,  she  relented. 

This  confidence  in  her  power  turned  the  girl  des- 
potic, whimsical,  voluble;  she  would  amuse  herself 
by  rousing  Leandro's  jealousy;  she  had  arrived  at  a 
particular  state,  a  blend  of  affection  and  hatred,  in 
which  the  affection  remained  within  and  the  hatred 
outside,  revealing  itself  in  a  ferocious  cruelty,  in  the 
satisfaction  of  mortifying  her  lover  constantly. 

104 


LA   BLASA'S   TAVERN        105 

"What  you  ought  to  do  some  fine  day,"  Senor  Ig- 
nacio  would  say  to  Leandro,  incensed  by  the  cruel 
coquetry  of  the  maiden,  "is  to  get  her  into  a  corner 
and  take  all  you  want.  .  .  .  And  then  give  her  a 
beating  and  leave  her  soft  as  mush.  The  next  day 
she'd  be  following  you  around  like  a  dog." 

Leandro,  as  brave  as  any  bully,  was  as  meek  as  a 
charity-pupil  in  the  presence  of  his  sweetheart.  At 
times  he  recalled  his  father's  counsel,  but  he  would 
never  have  summoned  the  courage  to  carry  it 
through. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  after  a  bitter  dispute 
with  Milagros,  Leandro  invited  Manuel  to  make  the 
rounds  that  night  together  with  him. 

"Where'll  we  go?"  asked  Manuel. 

"To  the  Naranjeros  cafe,  or  to  the  Engrima  res- 
taurant." 

"Wherever  you  please." 

"We'll  make  the  rounds  of  those  dives  and  then 
we'll  wind  up  at  La  Blasa's  tavern." 

"Do  the  hard  guys  go  there?" 

"I  should  say.     As  tough  as  you  make  'em." 

"Then  I'll  let  Roberto  know, — that  fellow  who 
came  for  me  to  take  him  to  la  Doctrina." 

"All  right." 

After  work  Manuel  went  off  to  the  boarding-house 
and  took  counsel  with  Roberto. 

"Be  at  the  San  Millan  cafe  about  nine  in  the  eve- 
ning," said  Roberto,  "I'll  be  there  with  a  cousin 
of  mine." 

"Are  you  going  to  take  her  there?"  Manuel  asked 
in  astonishment. 


106  THEQUEST 

"Yes.     She's  a  queer  one,  a  painter." 

"And  is  this  painter  good-looking?"  asked  Lean- 
dro. 

"I  can't  say.     I  don't  know  her." 

"Damn  my  sweet .  .  .  !  I'd  give  anything 

to  have  this  woman  come  along,  man." 

"Me,  too.'" 

They  both  went  to  the  San  Millan  cafe,  sat  down 
and  waited  impatiently.  At  the  hour  indicated  Ro- 
berto appeared  in  company  of  his  cousin  whom 
he  called  Fanny.  She  was  a  woman  between  thirty 
and  forty,  very  slender,  with  a  sallow  complexion, 
— a  distinguished,  masculine  type;  there  was  about 
her  something  of  the  graceless  beauty  of  a  race- 
horse; her  nose  was  curved,  her  jaw  big,  her  cheeks 
sunken  and  her  eyes  grey  and  cold.  She  wore  a 
jacket  of  dark  green  taffeta,  a  black  skirt  and  a  small 
hat. 

Leandro  and  Manuel  greeted  her  with  exceeding 
timidity  and  awkwardness;  they  shook  hands  with 
Roberto  and  conversed. 

"My  cousin,"  said  Roberto,  "would  like  to  see 
something  of  slum  life  hereabouts." 

"Whenever  you  wish,"  answered  Leandro.  "But 
I  warn  you  beforehand  that  there  are  some  pretty 
tough  specimens  in  this  vicinity." 

"Oh,  I'm  prepared,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  slight 
foreign  accent,  showing  a  revolver  of  small  calibre. 

Roberto  paid,  despite  Leandro's  protests,  and 
they  left  the  cafe.  Coming  out  on  the  Plaza  del 
Rastro,  they  walked  down  the  Ribera  de  Curtidores 
as  far  as  the  Ronda  de  Toledo. 


LA   BLASA'S   TAVERN         107 

"If  the  lady  wishes  to  see  the  house  we  live  in, 
this  is  the  one,"  said  Leandro. 

They  went  into  the  Corralon ;  a  crowd  of  gamins 
and  old  women,  amazed  to  see  such  a  strange  woman 
there  at  such  an  hour,  surrounded  them,  showering 
Manuel  and  Leandro  with  questions.  Leandro  was 
eager  for  Milagros  to  learn  that  he  had  been  there 
with  a  woman,  so  he  accompanied  Fanny  through 
the  place,  pointing  out  all  the  holes  of  the  wretched 
dwelling. 

"Poverty's  the  only  thing  you  can  see  here,"  said 
Leandro. 

"Yes,  yes  indeed,"  answered  the  woman. 

"Now  if  you  wish,  we'll  go  to  La  Blasa's  tavern." 

They  left  the  Corralon  for  Embajadores  lane  and 
walked  along  the  black  fence  of  a  laundry.  It  was  a 
dark  night  and  a  drizzle  had  begun  to  fall.  They 
stumbled  along  the  surrounding  path. 

"Look-out,"  said  Leandro.  "There's  a  wire 
here." 

He  stepped  upon  the  wire  to  hold  it  down.  They 
all  crossed  the  path  and  passed  a  group  of  white 
houses,  coming  to  Las  Injurias. 

They  approached  a  low  cottage  with  a  dark  socle ; 
a  door  with  clouded  broken  panes  stuffed  with 
bundles  of  paper,  through  which  shone  a  pallid  light, 
gave  entrance  to  the  dwelling.  In  the  opaque  trans- 
parency of  the  glass  appeared  from  time  to  time  the 
shadow  of  a  person. 

Leandro  opened  the  door  and  they  all  went  in. 
'A  stuffy,  smoky  wave  of  atmosphere  struck  them 
in  the  face.  A  kerosene  lamp,  hanging  from  the 


io8  THEQUEST 

ceiling  and  covered  with  a  white  shade,  provided 
light  for  the  tiny,  low-roofed  tavern. 

As  the  four  entered,  the  customers  greeted  them 
with  an  expression  of  stupefaction;  for  a  while  the 
habituees  whispered  among  themselves,  then  some, 
resumed  their  playing  as  others  looked  on. 

Fanny,  Roberto,  Leandro  and  Manuel  took  seats 
to  the  right  of  the  door. 

"What'll  you  have?"  asked  the  woman  at  the 
counter. 

"Four  fifteen-centimo  glasses  of  wine." 

The  woman  brought  the  glasses  in  a  filthy  tray, 
and  set  them  upon  the  table.  Leandro  pulled  out 
sixty  centimos. 

"They're  ten  apiece,"  corrected  the  woman  in 
ill-humoured  tones. 

"How's  that?" 

"Because  this  is  outside  the  limits." 

"All  right;  take  whatever  it  comes  to." 

The  woman  left  twenty  centimos  on  the  table 
and  returned  to  the  counter.  She  was  broad,  large- 
breasted,  with  a  head  that  set  deep  in  between  her 
shoulders  and  a  neck  composed  of  some  five  or  .six 
layers  of  fat;  from  time  to  time  she  would  serve  a 
drink,  always  getting  the  price  in  advance;  she  spoke 
very  little,  with  evident  displeasure  and  with  an  in- 
yariable  gesture  of  ill-humour. 

This  human  hippopotamus  had  at  her  right  a  tin 
tank  with  a  spigot,  for  brandy,  and  at  her  left  a 
flask  of  strong  wine  and  a  chipped  jar  covered  with 
a  black  funnel,  into  which  she  poured  whatever  was 
left  in  the  glasses  by  her  customers. 


LA   BLASA'S   TAVERN        109 

Roberto's  cousin  fished  out  a  phial  of  smelling 
salts,  hid  it  in  her  clamped  hand  and  took  a  sniff 
from  time  to  time. 

Opposite  the  place  where  Roberto,  Fanny,  Lean- 
dro  and  Manuel  were  seated,  a  crowd  of  some 
twenty  men  were  packed  around  a  table  playing 
cane. 

Near  them,  huddled  on  the  floor  next  the  stove, 
reclining  against  the  wall,  could  be  seen  a  number  of 
ugly,  scraggly-haired  hags,  dressed  in  corsages  and 
ragged  skirts  that  were  tied  around  their  waists 
by  ropes. 

"Who  are  those  women?"  asked  the  painter. 

"They're  old  tramps,"  explained  Leandro.  "The 
kind  that  go  to  the  Botanical  Garden  and  the  clear- 
ings outside  the  city." 

Two  or  three  of  the  unfortunates  held  in  their 
arms  children  belonging  to  other  women  who  had 
come  there  to  spend  the  night;  some  were  dozing 
with  their  cigarettes  sticking  from  the  corner  of 
their  mouths.  Amid  the  old  women  were  a  few  X 
little  girls  of  thirteen  or  fourteen,  monstrously  de- 
formed, with  bleary  eyes;  one  of  them  had  her  nose 
completely  eaten  away,  with  nothing  but  a  hole 
like  a  wound  left  in  its  place;  another  was  hydro- 
cephalous,  with  so  thin  a  neck  that  it  seemed  the 
slightest  movement  would  snap  it  and  send  her  head 
rolling  from  her  shoulders. 

"Have  you  seen  the  large  jars  they  have  here?" 
Leandro  asked  Manuel.  "Come  on  and  take  a 
look." 

The   two    rose   and   approached   the   group   of 


no  THE   QUEST 

gamblers.     One    of    these    interrupted    his    game. 

"Please  make  way?"  Leandro  said  to  him,  with 
marked  impertinence. 

The  man  drew  in  his  chair  sourly.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  about  the  jars;  they  were  large, 
embedded  in  the  wall,  painted  with  red-lead;  each 
of  them  bore  a  sign  denoting  the  class  of  wine  in- 
side, and  had  a  spigot. 

"What's  so  wonderful  about  this,  I'd  like  to 
know?"  asked  Manuel. 

Leandro  smiled ;  they  returned  as  they  had  come, 
disturbing  the  player  once  more  and  resuming  their 
seats  at  the  table. 

Roberto  and  Fanny  conversed  in  English. 

"That  fellow  we  made  get  up,"  said  Leandro,  "is 
the  bully  of  this  place." 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Fanny. 

"El  Valencia." 

The  man  they  were  speaking  about,  hearing  his 
sobriquet  mentioned,  turned  around  and  eyed  Lean- 
dro; for  a  moment  their  glances  crossed  defiantly; 
Valencia  turned  his  eyes  away  and  continued  playing, 
He  was  a  strong  man,  about  forty,  with  high  cheek 
bones,  reddish  skin  and  a  disagreeably  sarcastic  ex- 
pression. Every  once  in  a  while  he  would  cast  a 
severe  look  at  the  group  formed  by  Fanny,  Roberto 
and  the  other  two. 

"And  that  Valencia, — who  is  he?"  asked  the  lady 
in  a  low  voice. 

"He's  a  mat  maker  by  trade,"  answered  Leandro, 
raising  his  voice.  "A  tramp  that  wheedles  money 
out  of  low-lives ;  before  he  used  to  belong  to  the  pole, 


— the  kind  that  visit  houses  on  Sundays,  knock,  and 
when  they  see  nobody's  home,  stick  their  jimmy  into 
the  lock  and  zip!  ...  But  he  hasn't  the  courage 
even  for  this,  'cause  his  liver  is  whiter  than  paper." 

"It  would  be  curious  to  investigate,"  said  Roberto, 
"just  how  far  poverty  has  served  as  centre  of  gravity  I 
for  the  degradation  of  these  men." 

"And  how  about  that  white-bearded  old  fellow 
at  his  side?"  asked  Fanny. 

"He's  one  of  those  apostles  that  cure  with  water. 
They  say  he's  a  wise  old  fellow.  .  .  .  He  has  a 
cross  on  his  tongue.  But  I  believe  he  painted  it 
there  himself." 

"And  that  other  woman  there?" 

"That's  La  Paloma,  Valencia's  mistress." 

"Prostitute?"  asked  the  lady. 

"For  at  least  forty  years,"  answered  Leandro 
with  a  laugh. 

They  all  looked  closely  at  Paloma;  .she  had  a 
huge,  soft  face,  with  pouches  of  violet  skin,  and  a 
timid  look  as  of  a  humble  beast;  she  represented  at 
least  forty  years  of  prostitution  and  all  its  concomit- 
ant ills;  forty  years  of  nights  spent  in  the  open, 
lurking  about  barracks,  sleeping  in  .suburban  shanties 
and  the  most  repulsive  lodgings. 

Among  the  women  there  was  also  a  gypsy  who, 
from  time  to  time,  would  get  up  and  walk  across  the 
tavern  with  a  saucy  strut. 

Leandro  ordered  some  glasses  of  whiskey;  but  it 
was  so  bad  that  nobody  could  drink  it. 

"Hey,  you,"  called  Leandro  to  the  gipsy,  offering 
her  the  glass.  "Want  a  drink?" 


112  THE   QUEST 

"No." 

The  gypsy  placed  her  hands  upon  the  table, — a 
pair  of  stubby,  wrinkled  hands  incrusted  with  dirt. 

"Who  are  these  gumps?"  she  asked  Leandro. 

"Friends  of  mine.  Will  you  drink  or  not?"  and 
he  offered  her  the  glass  again. 

"No." 

Then  in  a  shrill  voice,  he  shouted: 

"Apostle,  will  you  have  a  drink?" 

The  Apostle  rose  from  his  place  amongst  the 
V  gamblers.  He  was  dead  drunk  and  could  hardly 
move ;  his  eyes  were  viscous,  like  those  of  an  angered 
animal;  he  staggered  over  to  Leandro  and  took  the 
glass,  which  trembled  in  his  grasp ;  he  brought  it  to 
his  lips  and  gulped  it  down. 

"Want  more?"  asked  the  gypsy. 

"Sure,  sure,"  he  drooled. 

Then  he  began  to  babble,  showing  the  stumps  of 
his  yellow  teeth,  but  nobody  could  understand  a 
word;  he  drained  the  other  glasses,  rested  his  fore- 
head against  his  hand  and  slowly  made  his  way  to  a 
corner,  into  which  he  squatted,  and  then  stretched 
himself  out  on  the  floor. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  tell  your  fortune,  princess?" 
asked  the  gipsy  of  Fanny,  seizing  her  hand, 

"No,"  replied  the  lady  drily. 

"Won't  you  give  me  a  few  coins,  for  the  churum- 
belesf" 

"No." 

"Wicked  woman !  Why  won't  you  give  me  a  few 
coins  for  the  churumbeles?" 

"What  does  churumbeles  mean?"  asked  the  lady. 


LA   BLASA'S   TAVERN        113 

"Her  children,"  answered  Leandro,  laughing. 

"Have  you  children?"  Fanny  asked  the  gipsy. 

"Yes." 

"How  many?" 

"Two.     Here  they  are." 

And  the  gipsy  fetched  a  blond  little  fellow  and  a 
girl  of  about  five  or  six. 

The  lady  petted  the  little  boy;  then  she  took  4. 
duro  from  her  purse  and  gave  it  to  the  gipsy. 

The  gipsy,  parting  her  lips  in  amazement  and 
bursting  forth  into  profuse  flattery,  exhibited  the 
duro  to  everybody  in  the  place. 

"We'd  better  be  going,"  advised  Leandro.  "To 
pull  one  of  those  big  coins  out  in  a  dive  like  this  is 
dangerous." 

The  four  left  the  tavern. 

"Would  you  like  to  make  the  rounds  of  this 
quarter?"  asked  Leandro. 

"Yes.     Let's,"  said  the  lady. 

Together  they  wound  in  and  out  of  the  narrow 
lanes  of  Las  Injurias. 

"Watch  out,  the  drain  runs  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,"  cautioned  Manuel. 

The  rain  kept  falling;  the  quartet  of  shimmers  en- 
tered narrow  patios  where  their  feet  sank  into  the 
pestiferous  slime.  Along  the  entire  extension  of 
the  ravine  black  with  mud,  shone  but  a  single  oil 
lamp,  attached  to  the  side  of  some  half  crumbled 
wall. 

"Shall  we  go  back?"  asked  Roberto. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lady. 

They  set  out  for  Embaj adores  lane  and  walked 


114  THE   QUEST 

up  the  Paseo  de  las  Acacias.  The  rain  came  down 
harder;  here  and  there  a  faint  light  shone  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  against  the  intense  darkness  of  the  sky  loomed 
the  vague  silhouette  of  a  high  chimney.  .  .  . 

Leandro  and  Manuel  accompanied  Fanny  and 
Roberto  as  far  as  the  Plaza  del  Rastro,  and  there 
they  parted,  exchanging  handshakes. 

"What  a  woman!"  exclaimed  Leandro. 

"Nice,  eh?"  asked  Manuel. 

"You  bet.  I'd  give  anything  to  have  a  try  at 
her." 


Roberto  In  Quest  of  a  Woman — El  Tabuenca  and  his  In- 
ventions— Don  Alonso  or  the  Snake-Man. 

A  FEW  months  later  Roberto  appeared  in  the 
Corrala  at  the  hour  when  Manuel  and  the 
shoe-shop  employes  were  returning  from 
their  day's  work. 

"Do  you  know  Senor  Zurro?"  Roberto  asked 
Manuel. 

"Yes.     He  lives  here  on  this  side." 

"I  know  that.     I'd  like  to  have  a  talk  with  him. 

"Then  knock  at  his  door.     He  must  be  in." 

"Come  along  with  me." 

Manuel  knocked  and  Encarna  opened;  they  went 
inside.  Senor  Zurro  was  in  his  room,  reading  a 
newspaper  by  the  light  of  a  large  candle;  the  place 
was  a  regular  storehouse,  cluttered  with  old  secre- 
taries, dilapidated  chests,  mantlepieces,  clocks  and 
sundry  other  items.  It  was  close  enough  to  stifle 
a  person;  it  was  impossible  to  breathe  or  to  take  a 
step  without  stumbling  against  something. 

"Are  you  Senor  Zurro?"  asked  Roberto. 

"Yes." 

"I  have  come  at  the  suggestion  of  Don  Telmo." 

"Don  Telmo!"  repeated  the  old  man,  rising  and 
"5 


ii6  THE   QUEST 

offering  the  student  a  chair.  "Have  a  seat.  How 
is  the  good  gentleman?" 

"Very  well." 

"He's  an  excellent  friend  of  mine,"  continued 
Zurro.  "I  should  say  so.  Well,  young  man,  let 
me  know  what  you  wish.  It's  enough  for  me  that 
you  come  from  Don  Telmo ;  that  assures  you  my  best 
services." 

"I  should  like  to  learn  the  whereabouts  of  a  cer- 
tain girl  acrobat  who  lived  about  five  or  six  years 
ago  in  a  lodging-house  of  this  vicinity,  or  in  Cuco's 
hostelry." 

"And  do  you  know  this  girl's  name?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  say  that  she  used  to  live  in  Cuco's 
hostelry?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  know  somebody  who  lives  there,"  murmured 
the  second-hand  dealer. 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Encarna. 

"That  man  with  the  monkeys.  Didn't  he  live 
there?"  asked  Sefior  Zurro. 

"No;  he  lived  in  la  Quinta  de  Goya,"  answered 
his  daughter. 

"Well,  then.  .  .  .  Just  wait  a  moment,  young 
man.  Wait  a  moment." 

"Isn't  it  Tabuenca  that  lives  there,  father?"  in- 
terrupted Encarna. 

"That's  the  fellow.  That's  it.  El  Tabuenca. 
You  go  and  see  him.  And  tell  him,"  added  Sefior 
Zurro,  turning  to  Roberto,  "that  I  sent  you.  He's 
a  grouchy  old  fellow,  as  testy  as  they  make  'em." 


IN   QUEST   OF  A   WOMAN     117 

Roberto  took  leave  of  the  second-hand  man  and 
his  daughter,  and  in  company  of  Manuel  walked 
out  to  the  gallery  of  the  house. 

"And  where's  this  Cuco's  hostelry?"  he  asked. 

"Over  there  near  Las  Yeserias,"  answered 
Manuel. 

"Come  along  with  me,  then;  we'll  have  supper  to- 
gether," suggested  Roberto. 

"All  right." 

They  both  went  off  to  the  hostelry,  which  was  situ- 
ated upon  a  thoroughfare  that  was  deserted  at  this 
hour.  It  was  a  large  building,  with  an  entrance- 
vestibule  in  country  style  and  a  patio  crowded  with 
carts.  They  questioned  a  boy.  El  Tabuenca  had 
Just  come,  he  told  them.  They  walked  into  the  vesti- 
bule, which  was  illuminated  by  a  lantern.  There 
was  a  man  inside. 

"Does  anybody  live  here  by  the  name  of  Tabu- 
enca?" asked  Roberto. 

"Yes.     What  is  it?"  asked  the  man. 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  talk  with  him." 

"Well,  talk  away,  then,  for  I'm  Tabuenca." 

As  the  speaker  turned,  the  light  of  the  oil  lan- 
tern hanging  upon  the  wall  struck  him  full  in  the 
face;  Roberto  and  Manuel  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. He  was  a  yellow,  shrivelled  specimen;  he 
had  an  absurd  nose,  as  if  it  had  been  wrenched  from 
its  roots  and  replaced  by  a  round  little  ball  of  meat. 
It  seemed  that  he  looked  at  the  same  time  with  his 
eyes  and  with  the  two  little  nasal  orifices.  He  was 
clean-shaven,  dressed  pretty  decently,  and  wore  a 
round  woollen  cap  with  a  green  visor. 


ii8  THE   QUEST 

He  listened  grumpily  to  what  Roberto  had  to  say; 
then  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  flung  the  match  far  away. 
Doubtless  because  of  the  exiguity  of  his  organ,  he 
found  it  necessary  to  stop  the  windows  of  his  nose 
with  his  fingers  in  order  to  smoke. 

Roberto  thought  at  first  that  the  man  had  not 
understood  his  question,  and  he  repeated  it  twice. 
Tabuenca  gave  no  heed;  but  all  at  once,  seized  with 
the  utmost  indignation,  he  snatched  the  cigar  furi- 
ously from  his  mouth  and  began  to  blaspheme  in  a 
whining,  gull-like  voice,  shrieking  that  he  couldn't 
make  out  why  folks  pestered  him  with  matters  that 
didn't  concern  him  a  particle; 

"Don't  shout  so,"  said  Roberto,  provoked  by  this 
rumpus.  "They'll  imagine  that  we've  come  here  to 
assassinate  you,  at  the  very  least." 

"I  shout  because  I  please  to." 

"All  right,  man ;  shout  away  to  your  heart's  con- 
tent." 

"Don't  you  talk  to  me  like  that  or  I'll  push  in 
your  face,"  yelled  Tabuenca. 

"You'll  push  in  my  face?"  retorted  Roberto, 
laughing;  then,  turning  to  Manuel,  he  added,  "These 
noseless  fellows  get  on  my  nerves  and  I'm  going  to 
let  this  flat-nose  have  it." 

Tabuenca,  his  mind  made  up,  withdrew  and  re- 
turned in  a  short  while  with  a  rapier-cane,  which 
he  unsheathed;  Roberto  looked  in  every  direction 
for  something  with  which  he  might  defend  himself, 
and  found  a  carter's  stick;  Tabuenca  aimed  a  thrust 
at  Roberto,  who  parried  it  with  the  stick;  then 


IN    QUEST    OF   A   WOMAN     119 

another  thrust,  and  Roberto,  as  again  he  parried  it, 
smashed  the  lantern  at  the  entrance,  leaving  the 
scene  in  darkness.  Roberto  began  to  strike  out 
right  and  left  and  he  must  have  landed  once  upon 
some  delicate  part  of  Tabuenca's  anatomy,  for  the 
man  began  to  shout  in  horrible  tones: 

"Assassins!     Murder!" 

At  this,  several  persons  came  running  into  the 
zaguan,  among  them  a  stout  mule-driver  with  an  oil- 
lamp  in  his  hand. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked. 

"These  murderers  are  after  my  life,"  bellowed 
Tabuenca. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Roberto  in  a  calm 
voice.  "The  fact  is,  we  came  here  to  ask  this  fellow 
a  civil  question,  and  without  any  reason  at  all  he 
began  to  yell  and  insult  me." 

"I'll  smash  your  face  for  you!"  interjected  Tabu- 
enca. 

"Well  suppose  you  try  it,  and  don't  stand  there 
talking  all  day  about  it!"  Roberto  taunted. 

"Rascal!     Coward!" 

"It's  you  who  are  the  coward.  You've  got  as 
little  guts  as  you  have  nose." 

Tabuenca  spat  out  a  series  of  insults  and  blas- 
phemies, and  turning  around,  left  the  place. 

"And  who's  going  to  pay  me  for  this  broken 
lantern?"  asked  the  mule-driver. 

"How  much  is  it  worth?"  asked  Roberto. 

"Three  pesetas." 

"Here  they  are." 


120  THEQUEST 

"That  Tabuenca  is  a  loud-mouthed  imbecile," 
said  the  mule-driver  as  he  took  the  money.  "And 
what  was  it  you  gentlemen  wished?" 

"I  wanted  to  ask  about  a  woman  that  lived  here 
some  years  ago;  she  was  an  acrobat." 

"Perhaps  Don  Alonso,  Titiri,  would  know.  If 
you'll  be  so  kind,  tell  me  where  you're  going,  and 
I'll  have  Titiri  look  you  up." 

"All  right.  You  tell  him  that  we'll  be  waiting 
for  him  at  the  San  Millan  cafe  at  nine  o'clock,"  said 
Roberto. 

"And  how  are  we  going  to  recognize  this  fellow?" 
asked  Manuel. 

"That's  so,"  said  Roberto.  "How  are  we  going 
to  know  him?" 

"Easy.  He  goes  around  nights  through  the  cafes 
with  one  of  those  apparatuses  that  sings  songs/' 

"You  mean  a  phonograph?" 

"That's  it." 

At  this  juncture  an  old  woman  appeared  in  the 
entrance,  shouting: 

"Who  was  the  dirty  son  of  a  bitch  that  broke  the 
lantern?" 

"Shut  up,  shut  up,"  answered  the  mule-driver. 
"It's  all  paid  for.n 

"Come  along!"  said  Manuel  to  Roberto. 

They  left  the  inn  and  strode  off  at  a  fast  clip. 
They  entered  the  San  Millan  cafe,  Roberto  or- 
dered supper.  Manuel  knew  Tabuenca  from  having 
seen  him  in  the  street,  and  as  they  ate  he  explained 
to  Roberto  just  what  sort  of  fellow  he  was. 
N  Tabuenca  made  his 'living  through  a  number  of 


IN   QUEST   OF   A   WOMAN    121 

inventions  that  he  himself  constructed.  When  he 
saw  that  the  public  was  tiring  of  one  thing,  he  would 
put  another  on  the  market,  and  so  he  managed  to 
get  along.  One  of  these  contraptions  was  a  wafer- 
mold  wheel  that  revolved  around  a  circle  of  nails 
among  which  numbers  were  inscribed  and  colours 
painted.  This  wheel  the  owner  carried  about  in  a 
pasteboard  box  with  two  covers,  which  were  divided 
into  tiny  squares  with  numbers  and  colours  corre- 
sponding to  those  placed  around  the  nails,  and 
here  the  bets  were  laid.  Tabuenca  would  carry 
the  closed  box  in  one  hand  and  a  field  table 
in  the  other.  He  would  set  up  his  outfit  at  some 
street  corner,  give  the  wheel  a  turn  and  begin  to 
mutter  in  his  whining  voice ; 

"  'Round  goes  the  wheel.  Place  your  bets,  gen- 
tlemen. .  .  .  Place  your  bets.  Number  or  colour 
,  .  .  number  or  colour.  .  .  .  Place  your  bets." 

When  enough  bets  were  placed, — and  this  hap- 
pened fairly  often, — Tabuenca  would  set  the  wheel 
spinning,  at  the  same  time  repeating  his  slogan: 
u 'Round  goes  the  wheel!"  The  marble  would 
bounce  amidst  the  nails  and  even  before  it  came  to 
a  stop  the  operator  knew  the  winning  number  and 
colour,  crying:  "Red  seven  .  .  ."  or  "the  blue 
five,"  and  always  he  guessed  right. 

As  Manuel  spoke  on,  Roberto  became  pensive. 

"Do  you  see?"  he  said,  all  at  once,  "these  de- 
lays are  what  provoke  a  fellow.  You  have  a  capital 
of  will  in  bank-notes,  gold-pieces,  in  large  denomina- 
tions, and  you  need  energy  in  centimes,  in  small 
change.  It's  the  same  with  the  intelligence;  that's 


122  THEQUEST 

why  so  many  intelligent  and  energetic  men  of  ambi- 
tion do  not  succeed.  They  lack  fractions,  and  in 
general  they  also  lack  the  talent  to  conceal  their 
efforts.  To  be  able  to  be  stupid  on  some  occasions 
would  probably  be  more  useful  than  the  ability  to  be 
discreet  on  just  as  many  other  occasions." 

Manuel,  who  did  not  understand  the  reason  for 
this  shower  of  words,  stared  open-mouthed  at  Rob- 
erto, who  sank  again  into  his  meditations. 

For  a  long  time  both  remained  silent,  when  there 
came  into  the  cafe  a  tall,  thin  man  with  greyish  hair 
and  grey  moustache. 

"Can  that  be  Titiri,  Don  Alonso?"  asked 
Roberto. 

"Maybe." 

The  gaunt  fellow  went  from  table  to  table,  ex- 
hibiting a  box  and  announcing:  "Here's  a  novelty. 
Here's  somethin'  new." 

He  was  about  to  leave  when  Roberto  called  him. 

"Do  you  live  at  Cuco's  hostelry?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Are  you  Don  Alonso?" 

"At  your  service." 

"Well,  we've  been  waiting  for  you.  Take  a  seat; 
you'll  have  coffee  with  us." 

The  man  took  a  seat.  His  appearance  was  de- 
cidedly comical, — a  blend  of  humility,  bragodoccio 
and  sad  arrogance.  He  gazed  at  the  place  that  Rob- 
erto had  just  abandoned,  in  which  remained  a  scrap 
of  roast  meat. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  to  Roberto.  "You're  not 
intending  to  finish  that  scrap?  No?  Then  .  .  . 


IN   QUEST   OF   A   WOMAN     123 

with  your  permission — "  and  he  took  the  plate,  the 
knife  and  the  fork. 

"I'll  order  another  beefsteak  for  you,"  said  Rob- 
erto. 

"No,  no.  It's  one  of  my  whims.  I  imagine  that 
this  meat  must  be  good.  Would  you  kindly  let  me 
have  a  slice  of  bread?"  he  added,  turning  to  Manuel. 
"Thanks,  young  man.  Many  thanks." 

The  man  bolted  the  meat  and  bread  in  a  trice. 

"What?  Is  there  a  little  wine  left;1"  he  asked, 
smiling. 

"Yes,"  replied  Manuel,  emptying  the  bottle  into 
the  man's  glass. 

"All  right,"  answered  the  man  in  ill-pronounced 
English  as  he  gulped  it  down.  "Gentlemen!  At 
your  service.  I  believe  you  wished  to  ask  me  some- 
thing." 

"Yes." 

"At  your  service,  then.  My  name  is  Alonso  de 
Guzman  Calderon  y  Tellez.  This  same  fellow  that's 
talking  to  you  now  has  been  director  of  a  circus  in 
America ;  I've  travelled  through  all  the  countries  and 
sailed  over  every  sea  in  the  world;  at  present  I'm 
adrift  in  a  violent  tempest;  at  night  I  go  from  cafe 
to  cafe  with  this  phonograph,  and  the  next  morning 
I  carry  around  one  of  these  betting  apparatuses  that 
consists  of  an  Infiel l  Tower  with  a  spiral.  Under- 
neath the  tower  there's  a  space  with  a  spring  that 
shoots  a  little  bone  ball  up  the  spiral,  and  then  the 
bone  falls  upon  a  board  perforated  with  holes  and 

*I.  e.  Faithless.    A  pun  on  Eiffel. 


124  THEQUEST 

painted  in  different  colours.  That  is  my  livelihood. 
1 1  Director  of  an  equestrian  circus !  This  is  what 
I've  descended  to;  an  assistant  to  Tabuenca.  What 
things  come  to  pass  in  this  world !" 

"I  should  like  to  ask  you,"  interrupted  Roberto, 
"if  during  your  residence  in  Cuco's  hostelry  you  ever 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  certain  Rosita  Buena- 
vida,  a  circus  acrobat." 

"Rosita  Buenavida !  You  say  that  her  name  was 
Rosita  Buenavida?  .  .  .  No,  I  don't  recall.  .  .  . 
I  did  have  a  Rosita  in  my  company;  but  her  name 
wasn't  Buenavida  (i.  e.,  Goodlife) ;  she'd  have  been 
better  named  Evil-life  and  evil  habits,  too." 

"Perhaps  she  changed  her  name,"  said  Roberto 
impatiently.  "What  age  was  the  Rosita  that  you 
knew?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you;  I  was  in  Paris  in  '68;  had  a 
contract  with  the  Empress  Circus.  At  that  time 
I  was  a  contortionist  and  they  called  me  the  Snake- 
Man;  then  I  became  an  equilibrist  and  adopted  the 
name  of  Don  Alonso.  Alonso  is  my  name.  After 
four  months  of  that  Perez  and  I — Perez  was  the 
greatest  gymnast  in  the  world — went  to  America, 
and  two  or  three  years  later  we  met  Rosita,  who 
must  have  been  about  twenty-five  or  thirty  at  that 
time." 

"So  that  the  Rosita  you're  talking  about  should 
be  sixty-odd  years  old  today,"  computed  Roberto. 
"The  one  I'm  looking  for  can't  be  more  than  thirty  at 
most." 

"Then  she's  not  the  one.     Caramba,  how  sorry  I 


IN   QUEST   OF   A   WOMAN     125 

am!"  murmured  Don  Alonso,  seizing  the  glass  of 
coffee  and  milk  and  raising  it  to  his  lips  as  if  he 
feared  it  were  going  to  be  wrested  from  him.  "And 
what  a  sweet  little  girl  she  was!  She  had  eyes  as 
green  as  a  cat's.  Oh,  she  was  a  pretty  chit,  a 
peach." 

Roberto  had  sunk  into  meditation;  Don  Alonso 
continued  his  chatter,  turning  to  Manuel: 

"There's  no  life  like  a  circus  artist's,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  don't  know  what  your  profession  is, 
and  I  don't  want  to  disparage  it;  but  if  you're  look- 
ing for  art.  .  .  .  Ah,  Paris,  the  Empress  Circus, 
— I'll  never  forget  them!  Of  course,  Perez  and  I 
had  luck;  we  created  a  furore  there,  and  I  needn't 
mention  what  that  means.  Oh,  that  was  the  life. 
.  .  .  Nights,  after  our  performance,  we'd  get  a 
note :  'Will  be  waiting  for  you  at  such  and  such  a 
cafe.'  We'd  go  there  and  find  one  of  your  high- 
life  women,  a  whimsical  creature  who'd  invite  a 
fellow  to  supper  .  .  .  and  to  all  the  rest.  But 
other  gymnasts  came  to  the  Empress  Circus;  the 
novelty  of  our  act  wore  off,  and  the  impresario,  a 
Yankee  who  owned  several  companies,  asked  Perez 
and  me  if  we  wanted  to  go  to  Cuba.  'Right  ahead,' 
said  I.  'All  right.'  " 

"Have  you  been  in  Cuba?"  asked  Roberto,  roused 
from  his  abstraction. 

"I've  been  in  so  many  places!"  replied  the  Snake- 
Man.  "We  embarked  at  Havre,"  continued  Don 
Alonso,  "on  a  vessel  called  the  Navarre,  and  we 
were  in  Havana  for  about  eight  months;  while  we 


126  THEQUEST 

were  performing  there  we  struck  it  big,  Perez  and 
I,  and  won  twenty  thousand  gold  pesos  in  the  lot- 
tery." 

"Twenty  thousand  duros !"  exclaimed  Manuel. 

"Right-o!  The  next  week  we  had  lost  it  all, 
and  Perez  and  I  were  left  without  a  centavo.  A 
few  days  we  lived  on  guava-fruit  and  yam,  until  we 
fell  in  with  some  gymnasts  on  the  Havana  wharf 
who  were  down  on  their  uppers.  We  joined  them. 
They  weren't  at  all  bad  performers;  among  them 
were  acrobats,  clowns,  pantominists,  bar  artists,  and 
a  French  ecuyere;  we  formed  a  company  and  made 
a  tour  through  the  island  towns;  and  some  magnifi- 
cent tour  that  was.  How  they  did  welcome  us  and 
treat  us  in  that  country!  'Come  right  in,  friend, 
and  have  a  glass.'  'Many  thanks.'  'The  gentle- 
man mustn't  displease  me;  let's  have  a  drink  in  that 
cantiqe,  eh?  .  .  .'  And  the  drink  flowed  to  your 
heart's  content.  As  I  was  the  only  one  in  the  troupe 
that  knew  how  to  figure — for  I've  had  an  educa- 
tion," interposed  Don  Alonso,  "and  my  father  was  a 
soldier — they  named  me  director.  In  one  of  the 
towns  I  reinforced  the  company  with  a  ballerina 
and  a  strong  man.  The  dancer's  name  was  Rosita 
Montanes;  she's  the  one  I  thought  of  when  you  men- 
tioned the  Rosita  you  were  looking  for.  This  Mon- 
tanes was  Spanish  and  had  married  the  strong  man, 
an  Italian  whose  real  name  was  Napoleon  Pitti. 
The  couple  had  with  them  as  secretary  a  Galician, 
— very  intelligent  chap,  but  as  an  artist,  detestable. 
And  between  Efosita  and  him  they  deceived  Hercules. 
This  wasn't  very  hard,  for  Napoleon  was  one  of  the 


IN    QUEST   OF   A   WOMAN     127 

ugliest  men  I've  ever  laid  eyes  on.  As  for  strength, 
there  was  never  his  match;  he  had  a  back  as  solid  as 
a  front  wall;  his  ears  were  flattened  from  blows 
got  in  prize-fighting;  he  was  a  barbarian  for  fair, 
and  you  know  what  they  say:  'Tell  a  man  by  his 
talk  and  a  bullock  by  his  horn.'  And  believe  me, 
this  little  Galician  chap  led  Hercules  by  the  horn,  all 
right.  The  cursed  smarty  fooled  me,  too,  though 
not  as  he  did  Hercules,  for  I've  always  been  a 
bachelor,  thank  the  Lord,  partly  through  fear  and 
partly  through  design.  Nor  have  I  ever  lacked 
women,"  added  Don  Alonso,  boastfully. 

"What  was  I  saying,  now?  Oh,  yes.  I  didn't 
know  any  English;  the  damned  lingo  isn't  very  hard, 
but  I  simply  couldn't  get  it  into  my  head.  So  I 
needed  an  interpreter,  and  I  appointed  the  Galician 
as  secretary  of  the  company  and  ticket-seller.  We 
had  been  together  for  almost  a  year  when  we  reached 
an  English  island  near  Jamaica.  The  governor  of 
the  island,  the  queerest  Englishman  there  ever  was, 
with  a  pair  of  side-whiskers  that  looked  like  flames 
leaping  from  his  cheeks,  summoned  me  as  soon  as 
we  landed.  As  there  was  no  site  for  our  perform- 
ances, he  made  alterations  in  the  municipal  school, 
which  was  a  regular  palace;  he  ordered  all  the  parti- 
tions removed  and  the  ring  and  tiers  of  seats  in- 
stalled. Only  the  negroes  of  the  town  went  to  that 
school,  and  what  need  had  those  creatures  of  learn- 
ing to  read  and  write? 

"We  stayed  there  a  month,  and  despite  the  fact 
that  we  had  rent  free  and  that  we  played  to  full 
houses  every  afternoon,  and  that  we  had  practically 


128  THE   QUEST 

no  expenses,  we  didn't  make  any  profit.  'How  can 
it  be?'  I  kept  asking  myself. —  A  mystery." 

"And  what  was  the  reason?"  asked  Manuel. 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  First  I  must  explain  that 
the  governor  with  the  flaming  side-whiskers  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Rosita,  and  without  beating 
around  the  bush  he  had  taken  her  off  to  his  palace. 
Poor  Hercules  roared  and  crushed  the  dishes  with 
his  fingers,  drowning  his  grief  and  his  rage  by  com- 
mitting all  sorts  of  barbarities. 

"The  governor,  a  generous  sort,  invited  the  Gali- 
cian  and  me  to  his  residence,  and  there,  in  a  garden 
of  cedars  and  palms,  we  would  draw  up  the  program 
of  the  performances,  and  amuse  ourselves  at  target- 
practice  while  we  smoked  the  finest  tobacco  and 
drank  glass  after  glass  of  rum.  We  paid  court 
to  Rosita  and  she'd  laugh  like  a  madwoman,  and 
dance  the  tango,  the  cachucha  and  the  vito,  and 
she'd  fail  the  Englishman  an  awful  number  of  times. 
One  day  the  governor,  who  treated  me  as  a  friend, 
said  to  me:  'That  secretary  of  yours  is  robbing 
you.'  'I  think  he  is,'  I  answered.  'Tonight  you'll 
have  the  proof.' 

"We  finished  the  performance;  I  went  off  home, 
had  supper  and  was  about  to  go  to  bed  when  a  little 
negro  servant  comes  in  and  tells  me  to  follow  him; 
all  right;  I  follow;  we  both  leave;  we  draw  near 
the  circus  house,  and  in  a  nearby  saloon  I  see  the 
governor  and  the  town  chief  of  police.  It  was  a 
very  beautiful  moonlit  night,  and  there  was  no  light 
in  the  saloon;  we  wait  and  wait,  and  soon  a  figure 
appears,  and  steals  in  through  a  window  of  the 


IN    QUEST   OF   A   WOMAN     129 

schoolhouse.  'Forwer,'  whispered  the  governor. 
That  means  Forward,"  interpreted  Don  Alonso. 

"The  three  of  us  followed  and  entered  noiselessly 
through  the  same  window;  on  tiptoe  we  reached  the 
entrance  to  the  former  school,  which  served  as  the 
circus  vestibule  and  contained  the  ticket-office.  We 
see  the  secretary  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand  going 
through  the  money-box.  'Surrender  in  the  name  of 
the  authorities  P  shouted  the  governor,  and  with  the 
revolver  that  he  held  in  his  hand  he  fired  a  shot  into 
the  air.  The  secretary  was  paralyzed  at  the  sight 
of  us;  then  the  governor  aimed  the  gun  at  the  fel- 
low's chest  and  fired  again  point  blank;  and  the  man 
wavered,  turned  convulsively  in  the  air  and  fell  dead. 

"The  governor  was  jealous  and  the  truth  is  that 
Rosita  was  in  love  with  the  secretary.  I  never  in 
my  life  saw  grief  as  great  as  that  woman's  when 
she  found  her  lover  dead.  She  wept  and  dragged 
along  after  him,  uttering  wails  that  simply  tore  your 
soul  in  two.  Napoleon,  too,  wept. 

"We  buried  the  secretary  and  four  or  five  days 
later  the  chief  of  police  of  the  island  informed  us 
that  the  school  could  no  longer  serve  as  a  circus  and 
that  we'd  have  to  clear  out.  We  obeyed  the  order, 
for  there  was  no  way  out  of  it,  and  for  another 
couple  of  years  we  wandered  from  town  to  town 
through  Central  America,  Yucatan,  Mexico,  until 
we  struck  Tampico,  where  the  company  disbanded. 
As  there  was  no  outlook  for  us  there,  Perez  and  I 
took  a  vessel  for  New  Orleans." 

"Beautiful  town,  eh?"  said  Roberto. 

"Beautiful.     Have  you  been  there?" 


130  THE   QUEST 

"Yes." 

"Man,  how  happy  I  am  to  hear  itl" 

"What  a  river,  eh?" 

"An  ocean  I  Well,  to  continue  my  story.  The 
first  time  we  performed  in  that  city,  gentlemen, 
what  a  success  I  The  circus  was  higher  than  a 
church;  I  said  to  the  carpenter;  'Place  our  trapeze  as 
high  as  possible,'  and  after  giving  him  these  orders 
I  went  off  for  a  bite. 

"During  our  absence  the  impresario  happened 
along  and  asked:  'Are  those  Spanish  gymnasts  go- 
ing to  preform  at  such  a  height?'  'That's  what 
they  said,'  answered  the  carpenter.  'Let  them 
know,  then,  that  I  don't  want  to  be  responsible  for 
such  barbarity.' 

"Perez  and  I  were  in  the  hotel,  when  we  received 
a  message  calling  us  to  the  circus  at  once." 

"  'What  can  it  be?'  my  companion  asked  me. 
'You'll  see,'  I  told  him.  'They're  going  to  demand 
that  we  lower  the  trapeze.' 

"And  so  it  was.  Perez  and  I  go  to  the  circus 
and  we  see  the  impresario.  That  was  what  he 
requested. 

"  'Nothing  doing,'  I  told  him.  'Not  even  if  the 
President  of  the  Republic  of  the  United  States  him- 
self comes  here,  together  with  his  esteemed  mother. 
I  won't  lower  the  trapeze  an  inch.'  'Then  you'll 
be  compelled  to.'  'We'll  .see.'  The  impresario 
summoned  a  policeman;  I  showed  the  fellow  my 
contract,  and  he  sided  with  me;  he  told  me  that  my 
companion  and  I  had  a  perfect  right  to  break  our 
necks.  ." 


IN   QUEST   OF  A   WOMAN     131 

"What  a  country!"  murmured  Roberto,  ironi- 
cally. 

"You're  right,"  agreed  Don  Alonso  in  all  serious- 
ness. "What  a  country.  That's  what  you  call 
progress ! 

"That  night,  in  the  circus,  before  we  went  on, 
Perez  and  I  listened  to  the  comments  of  the  public. 
'What?  Are  these  Spaniards  going  to  perform  at 
such  an  altitude?'  the  people  were  asking  each 
other.  'They'll  kill  themselves.'  And  we  listened 
calmly,  all  the  time  smiling. 

"We  were  about  to  enter  the  ring,  when  along 
comes  a  fellow  with  sailor's  chinwhiskers  wearing  a 
flat-brimmed  high  hat  and  a  carrick,  and  in  a  twang- 
ing voice  he  tells  us  that  we're  in  danger  of  having 
a  terrible  accident  performing  'way  up  there,  and 
that,  if  we  wish,  we  can  take  out  life  insurance.  All 
we'd  have  to  do  is  to  sign  a  few  papers  that  he  had  in 
his  hand.  Lord  I  I  nearly  died.  I  felt  like  chok- 
ing the  fellow. 

"Trembling  and  screwing  up  our  courage,  Perez 
and  I  entered  the  ring.  We  had  to  put  on  a  little 
rouge.  We  wore  a  blue  costume  decorated  with 
silver  stars, — a  reference  to  the  United  States  flag; 
we  saluted  and  then,  up  the  rope. 

"At  first  I  thought  that  I  was  going  to  slip;  my 
head  was  going  'round,  my  ears  were  humming;  but 
with  the  first  applause  I  forgot  everything,  and 
Perez  and  I  performed  the  most  difficult  feats  with 
most  admirable  precision.  The  public  applauded 
wildly.  What  days  those  were!" 

And  the  old  gymnast  smiled;  then  he  made  a  bit- 


132  THEQUEST 

ter  grimace;  his  eyes  grew  moist;  he  blinked  so  as 
to  dry  a  tear  that  at  last  escaped  and  coursed  down 
his  earth-coloured  cheek. 

"I'm  an  old  fool;  but  I  can't  help  it,"  Don  Alonso 
murmured  in  explanation  of  his  weakness. 

"And  did  you  stay  in  New  Orleans?"  asked  Rob- 
erto. 

"Perez  and  I  signed  a  contract  there,"  replied 
Don  Alonso,  "with  a  big  circus  syndicate  of  New 
York  that  had  about  twenty  or  thirty  companies 
touring  all  America.  All  of  us  gymnasts,  ballet- 
dancers,  ecuyeres,  acrobats,  pantominists,  clowns, 
contortionists,  and  strong  men  travelled  in  a  special 
train.  .  .  .  The  majority  were  Italians  and  French- 
men." 

"Were  there  good-looking  women,  eh?"  asked 
Manuel. 

"Uf !  .  .  .  Like  this  .  .  ."  replied  Don  Alonso, 
bringing  his  fingers  all  together.  "Women  with 
such  muscles!  .  .  .  There  was  no  other  life  any- 
thing like  it,"  he  added,  reverting  to  his  melancholy 
theme.  "You  had  all  the  money  and  women  and 
clothes  you  wanted.  .  .  .  And  above  all,  glory,  ap- 
plause. .  .  ." 

And  the  gymnast  went  into  a  trance  of  enthus- 
iasm, staring  rigidly  at  a  fixed  point. 

Roberto  and  Manuel  gazed  at  him  in  curiosity. 

"And  Rosita, — didn't  you  ever  see  her  again?" 
asked  Roberto. 

"No.  They  told  me  that  she  had  got  a  divorce 
from  Napoleon  so  that  she  could  marry  again,  in 
Boston,  some  millionaire  from  the  West.  Ah, 


IN   QUEST   OF  A   WOMAN    133 

women.  .  .  .  Who  can  trust  them?  .  .  .  But 
gentlemen,  it's  already  eleven.  Pardon  me;  I'll 
have  to  be  going.  Thanks  ever  so  much!"  mur- 
mured Don  Alonso,  seizing  Roberto  and  Manuel  by 
the  hands  and  pressing  them  effusively.  "We'll 
meet  again,  won't  we?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we'll  see  each  other,"  replied  Roberto. 

Don  Alonso  picked  up  his  phonograph  and  wound 
in  and  out  among  the  tables,  repeating  his  phrase: 
"Novelty!  Something  new!"  Then,  after  having 
saluted  Roberto  and  Manuel  once  more,  he  dis- 
appeared. 

"Nothing.  I  can't  discover  a  thing,"  grumbled 
Roberto.  "Good-bye.  See  you  again." 

Manuel  was  left  alone,  and  musing  upon  Don 
Alonso's  tales  and  upon  the  mystery  surrounding 
'Roberto,  he  returned  to  the  Corralon  and  went  to 
bed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  Kermesse  on  Pasion  Street — "The  Dude" — A  Cafe 
Chantant. 

LEANDRO  eagerly  awaited  the  kermesse 
that  was  to  take  place  on  Pasion  street.  In 
former  years  he  had  accompanied  Milagros 
Jq  the  nocturnal  fair  of  San  Antonio  and  to  those 
of  the  Prado;  he  had  danced  with  her,  treated  her 
to  buns,  presented  her  with  a  pot  of  sweet  basil; 
but  this  summer  the  proof-reader's  family  seemed 
very  much  determined  upon  keeping  Milagros  away 
from  Leandro.  He  had  learned  that  his  sweetheart 
and  her  mother  were  thinking  of  going  to  the  ker- 
messe, so  he  procured  a  pair  of  tickets  and  told 
Manuel  that  they  two  would  attend. 

So  it  happened.  They  went,  on  a  terribly  hot 
August  night;  a  dense,  turbid  vapour  filled  all  the 
streets  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Rastro,  which  were 
decorated  and  illuminated  with  Venetian  lanterns. 

The  festival  was  celebrated  upon  a  large  vacant 
lot  on  Pasion  street.  Leandro  and  Manuel  entered 
as  the  band  from  the  Orphan  Asylum  was  playing 
a  habanera.  The  lot,  aglare  with  arc-lights,  was 
bedecked  with  ribbons,  gauze  and  artificial  flowers 
that  radiated  from  a  pole  in  the  centre  to  the  boun- 
daries of  the  enclosure.  Before  the  entrance  door 

134 


THE   KERMESSE  135 

there  was  a  tiny  wooden  booth  adorned  with  red 
and  yellow  percale  and  a  number  of  Spanish  flags; 
this  was  the  raffle  stand. 

Leandro  and  Manuel  took  a  seat  in  a  corner  and 
waited.  The  proof-reader  and  his  family  did  not 
arrive  until  after  ten;  Milagros  looked  very  pretty 
that  night;  she  had  on  a  light  costume  with  blue 
figuring,  a  kerchief  of  black  crape  and  white  slip- 
pers. She  wore  her  gown  somewhat  decollete,  as 
far  as  the  smooth,  round  beginnings  of  her  throat. 

At  this  moment  the  band  from  the  Orphan  Asylum 
blared  forth  the  schottisch  called  Los  Cocineros 
(The  Cooks).  Leandro,  stirred  by  the  strains,  in- 
vited Milagros  out  for  a  dance,  but  the  maiden  made 
a  slight  gesture  of  annoyance. 

"You  might  soil  my  new  costume,"  she  murmured, 
and  put  her  kerchief  around  her  waist. 

"If  you  dance  with  another  fellow  he'll  soil  it, 
too,"  replied  Leandro  in  all  humility. 

Milagros  did  not  heed  his  words;  she  danced 
with  her  skirt  gathered  in  one  hand,  answering  him 
in  peevish  monosyllables.  - 

The  schottisch  over,  Leandro  invited  the  family 
to  refreshments.  To  the  right  of  the  entrance 
there  were  two  decorated  staircases,  which  led  to 
another  lot  about  six  or  seven  metres  above  the 
grounds  where  the  dance  was  being  held.  On  one 
of  the  stairways,  which  were  both  aglow  with  Span- 
ish flags,  was  a  signpost  reading  "Refreshments: 
Entrance"  upon  the  other,  "Refreshments:  Exit." 

They  all  went  upstairs.  The  refreshment-parlour 
was  a  spacious  place,  with  trees  and  illumination  of 


136  THEQUEST 

electric  globes  that  hung  from;  thick  cables. 
Seated  at  the  tables  was  a  motley  crowd,  speaking 
at  the  top  of  their  voices,  clapping  their  hands  and 
laughing. 

They  had  to  wait  a  long  while  before  a  waiter 
brought  them  their  beer;  Milagros  ordered  an  ice, 
and  as  there  were  none,  she  would  have  nothing. 
She  sat  there  thus,  without  opening  her  mouth,  con- 
sidering herself  grievously  offended,  until  she  met 
two  girls  from  her  shop  and  joined  them,  where- 
upon her  displeasure  vanished  in  a  trice.  Leandro, 
at  the  first  opportunity,  left  the  proof-reader  and, 
rejoining  Manuel,  set  off  in  quest  of  his  sweetheart. 
In  the  lot  next  to  the  entrance,  where  the  dancing 
was  going  on,  couples  resting  between  numbers 
strolled  around  in  leisurely  fashion.  Milagros  and 
her  two  friends,  arms  linked,  came  by  in  jovial  mood, 
followed  closely  by  three  men.  One  of  them  was 
a  rough-looking  youth,  tall,  with  fair  moustache; 
the  other  a  stupid  fellow,  of  ordinary  appearance, 
with  dyed  moustache,  shirt-front  and  fingers  spark- 
ling with  diamonds;  the  third  was  a  knave  witfy 
cheek-whiskers,  half  gipsy  and  half  cattle-dealer, 
with  every  ear  mark  of  the  most  dangerous  mounte- 
bank. 

Leandro,  noticing  the  manoeuvres  of  the  masculine 
trio,  thrust  .himself  in  between  the  maidens  and  their 
gallants,  and  turning  to  the  men  impertinently  asked: 

"What's  up?" 

The  trio  pretended  not  to  understand  and  lagged 
behind. 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Manuel. 


THE   KERMESSE  137 

"One  of  them's  Lechuguino  (the  dude)," 
answered  Leandro  in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  his  sweet- 
heart should  hear.  "He's  at  least  fifty,  and  he 
comes  around  here  trying  to  play  the  dashing  young 
blade;  that  runt  with  the  dyed  moustache  is  Pepe 
el  Federal  (the  Federalist),  and  the  other  is  Euse- 
bio  el  Carnicero  (the  Butcher),  a  fellow  who  owns 
quite  a  number  of  questionable  horses." 

Leandro's  blustering  outburst  appealed  to  one  of 
the  maidens,  who  turned  to  look  at  the  youth  and 
smiled  at  him;  but  Milagros  was  not  in  the  least 
affected,  and  looking  back,  she  repeatedly  sought 
the  group  of  three  men  with  her  glance. 

At  this  juncture  there  appeared  the  fellow  whom 
Leandro  had  designated  with  the  sobriquet  of 
Lechuguino,  in  company  of  the  proof-reader  and 
his  wife.  The  three  girls  approached  them,  and 
Lechuguino  invited  Milagros  to  glance.  Leandro 
glanced  in  anguish  at  his  sweetheart;  she,  however, 
whirled  off  heedlessly.  The  band  was  playing  the 
pas  double  from  the  Drummer  of  the  Grenadiers. 
Lechuguino  was  an  expert  dancer;  he  swept  his  part- 
ner along  as  if  she  were  a  feather  and  as  he  spoke, 
brought  his  lips  so  close  to  hers  that  it  seemed  as  if 
he  were  kissing  her. 

Leandro  was  at  an  utter  loss  and  suffered  agonies; 
he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  leave.  The 
dance  came  to  an  end  and  Lechuguino  accompanied 
Milagros  to  the  place  where  her  mother  was  sit- 
ting. 

"Come.  Let's  be  going!"  said  Leandro  to  Man- 
uel. "If  we  don't,  I'm  sure  to  do  something  rash." 


138  THEQUEST 

They  escaped  from  the  fair  and  entered  a  cafe 
chantant  on  Encomienda  Street.  It  was  deserted. 
Two  girls  were  dancing  on  a  platform;  one  dressed 
like  a  maja,  the  other,  like  a  manolo. 

Leandro,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  said  nothing; 
Manuel  was  very  sleepy. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,"  muttered  Leandro  after 
a  short  while.  "This  is  too  gloomy." 

They  walked  to  the  Plaza  del  Progreso,  Leandro 
with  head  bowed,  as  pensive  as  ever,  and  Manuel 
so  sleepy  that  he  could  hardly  stand. 

"Over  at  the  "Marina  cafe,"  suggested  Leandro, 
"there  must  be  a  high  old  time." 

"It  would  be  better  to  go  home,"  answered  Man- 
uel. 

Leandro,  without  listening  to  his  companion, 
walked  to  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  and  the  two  very  si- 
lently turned  into  Montera  Street  and  around  the 
corner  of  Jardines.  It  was  past  one.  As  the  pair 
walked  on,  prostitutes  in  their  gay  attire  accosted 
them  from  the  doorways  in  which  they  lurked,  but 
looking  into  Leandro's  grim  countenance  and  Man- 
uel's poverty-stricken  features  the  girls  let  them  walk 
on,  following  them  with  a  gibe  at  their  seriousness. 

Midway  up  the  narrow,  gloomy  street  shone  a 
red  lamp,  which  illuminated  the  squalid  front  of  the 
Marina  cafe. 

Leandro  shoved  the  door  open  and  they  went  in- 
side. At  one  end  the  platform,  with  four  or  five 
mirrors,  glittered  dazzlingly;  the  floor  was  so  tightly 
jammed  with  rows  of  tables  thrust  against  either 


THE  KERMESSE  1139 

wall  that  only  a  narrow  passage  was  left  in  the 
middle. 

Leandro  and  Manuel  found  a  seat.  Manuel 
rested  his  forehead  against  his  palm  and  was  soon 
asleep ;  Leandro  beckoned  to  one  of  the  two  singers, 
who  were  gaily  dressed  and  were  conversing  with 
some  fat  women,  and  the  two  singers  sat  down  at 
his  table. 

"What'll  you  have?"  asked  Leandro. 

"Canary-seed  for  me,"  answered  one  of  them, — a 
slender,  nervous  type  with  small  eyes  that  were 
ringed  with  cosmetics. 

"And  what's  your  name?" 

"Mine?     Maria  la  Chivato." 

"And  that  girl's?" 

"La  Tarugo." 

Tarugo,  who  was  a  buxom,  gipsy-like  Malaguena, 
sat  down  beside  Leandro,  and  they  started  a  con- 
versation in  hushed  tones. 

The  waiter  approached. 

"Let's  have  four  whiskies,"  ordered  Chivato. 
"For  this  chap  is  going  to  drink,  too,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Manuel  and  seizing  his  arm.  "Hey, 
you  there,  lad!" 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  the  boy,  waking  up  without  a 
notion  of  his  whereabouts.  "What  do  you  want?" 

Chivato  burst  into  laughter. 

"Wake  up,  man,  you'll  lose  your  express!  Did 
you  come  in  this  afternoon  on  the  mixed  train?" 

"I  came  on  the  ...  "  and  Manuel  let  loose  a 
stream  of  obscenity. 


140  THEQUEST 

Then,  in  very  ugly  humour,  he  began  to  stare  in 
every  direction,  making  all  manner  of  efforts  not  to 
fall  asleep. 

At  a  table  set  aside  a  man  who  looked  like  a  horse- 
dealer  was  discussing  the  flamenco  song  and  dance 
with  a  cross-eyed  fellow  bearing  every  appearance 
of  an  assassin. 

"There's  no  more  artists,"  the  horse-dealer  was 
Saying.  "Once  upon  a  time  folks  came  here  to  see 
Pinto,  Canito,  the  Feos,  the  Macarronas.  .  .  .  Now 
what?  Now,  nothing.  Pullets  in  vinegar." 

"That's  what,"  agreed  the  cross-eyed  assassin, 
very  seriously. 

"That's  the  musician,"  said  Chivato,  point- 
ing to  the  latter. 

The  two  singers  did  not  remain  very  long  at  the 
table  with  Leandro  and  Manuel.  The  cross-eyed 
fellow  was  already  on  the  platform;  he  began  to  tune 
the  guitar,  and  six  women  sat  down  around  him  in  a 
row,  beginning  to  clap  hands  in  time  to  the  music; 
Tarugo  rose  from  her  seat  and  started  a  side  dance, 
and  was  soon  wiggling  her  hips  convulsively;  the 
singer  commenced  to  gargarize  softly;  at  intervals 
he  would  be  silent  and  then  nothing  would  be  heard 
save  the  snapping  of  Tarugo's  fingers  and  the  clat- 
ter of  her  heels,  which  played  the  counterpoint. 

After  the  Malaga  singer  had  finished,  a  gipsy 
youth  with  a  chocolate  complexion  got  up  and 
executed  a  tango  and  a  negro  dance;  he  twisted 
himself  in  and  out,  thrust  his  abdomen  forward  and 
his  arms  back.  He  wound  up  with  effeminate  undul- 


THEKERMESSE  141 

ations  of  his  hips  and  a  most  complicated  inter- 
twining of  arms  and  legs. 

"That's  what  you  call  art!"  commended  the 
horse-dealer. 

"See  here,  I'm  going,"  grumbled  Manuel. 

"Wait  a  minute ;  we'll  have  another  drink." 

"No.     I'm  going." 

"All  right;  let's  come.     Too  bad  I" 

At  that  moment  a  corpulent  singer  with  a  power- 
ful neck,  and  the  cross-eyed  guitarist  with  the  assas- 
sin's face,  came  forward  to  the  public,  and  while 
the  one  strummed  the  guitar,  suddenly  muting  the 
strings  by  placing  his  hands  over  them,  the  other,  his 
face  flushed,  the  veins  of  his  neck  standing  out 
tensely,  and  his  eyes  bulging  from  their  sockets, 
poured  forth  a  guttural  wail  that  was  doubtless  of 
most  difficult  execution,  for  it  reddened  him  to  the 
very  forehead. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Leandro's    Irresolution — In    Blasa's    Tavern — The    Man 
With  The  Three  Cards— The  Duel  With  Valencia. 

SOME  nights  Manuel  would  hear  Leandro  toss- 
ing about  in  his  bed  and  heaving  sighs  as  deep 
as  a  bull's  roar. 

"Things  are  going  rotten  with  him,"  thought 
Manuel. 

The  break  between  Milagros  and  Leandro  was 
definitive.  Lechuguino,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
gaining  ground:  he  had  won  over  the  girl's  mother, 
would  treat  the  proof-reader  and  wait  for  Milagros 
where  she  worked,  accompanying  her  home. 

One  day,  toward  dusk,  Manuel  saw  the  pair  near 
the  foot  of  Embajadores  Street;  Lechuguino  minced 
along  with  his  cloak  thrown  back  across  his  shoulder; 
she  was  huddled  in  her  mantle;  he  was  talking  to 
her  and  she  was  laughing. 

"What's  Leandro  going  to  do  when  he  finds  out?" 
Manuel  asked  himself.  "No,  I'm  not  going  to  tell 
him.  Some  witch  of  the  neighbourhood  will  see  to 
it  that  he  learns  soon  enough." 

And  thus  it  came  about;  before  a  month  had 
passed,  everybody  in  the  house  knew  that  Milagros 
and  Lechuguino  were  keeping  company,  that  he  had 
given  up  the  gay  life  in  the  dives  of  the  city  and  was 

142 


IRRESOLUTION  143 

considering  the  continuation  of  his  father's  business, 
— the  sale  of  construction  material;  he  was  going  to 
settle  down  and  lead  the  life  of  a  respectable  mem- 
ber of  the  community. 

While  Leandro  would  be  away  working  in  the 
shoeshop,  Lechuguino  would  visit  the  proof-reader's 
family;  he  now  saw  Milagros  with  the  full  consent 
of  her  parents. 

Leandro  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  the  only  person 
unaware  of  Milagros'  new  beau.  Some  mornings 
as  the  boy  passed  Senor  Zurro's  apartment  on  the 
way  down  to  the  patio,  he  would  encounter  Encarna, 
who,  catching  sight  of  him,  would  ask  maliciously 
after  Milagros,  or  else  sing  him  a  tango  which 
began : 

Of  all  the  crazy  deeds  a  man  commits  in  his  life, 
The  craziest  is  taking  to  himself  a  wife. 

(De  las  grandes  locuras  que  el  hombre  hace, 

~No  comete  ninguna  como  casarse.) 

Whereupon  she  would  specify  the  madness  and  enter- 
ing into  details,  would  add  at  the  top  of  her  voice : 

He's  off  to  his  office  bright  and  early, 

While  some  neighbourhood  swell  stays  at  home  with 

his  girlie. 

(Y  por  la  manana  el  va  a  la  oficina, 

y  ella  queda  en  casa  con  algun  vecino 

que  es  persona  fina.) 

Leandro's  bitterness  corroded  the  very  depths  of 
his  soul,  and  however  much  he  tried  to  dominate  his 
instincts,  he  could  not  succeed  in  calming  himself. 
One  Saturday  night,  as  they  were  walking  home- 


144  THE  QUEST 

wards  along  the  Ronda,  Leandro  drew  near  to 
Manuel. 

"Do  you  know  whether  Milagros  talks  to 
Lechuguino?" 

"I?" 

"Haven't  you  heard  that  they  were  going  to  get 
married?" 

"Yes;  so  folks  say." 

"What  would  you  do  in  my  case?" 

"I  ...  I'd  find  out." 

"And  suppose  it  proved  to  be  true?" 

Manuel  was  silent.  They  walked  along  without 
a  word.  Soon  Leandro  came  to  an  abrupt  stop  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  Manuel's  shoulder. 

"Do  you  believe,"  he  asked,  "that  if  a  woman 
deceives  a  man,  he  has  the  right  to  kill  her?" 

"I  don't  believe  he  has,"  answered  Manuel,  star- 
ing into  Leandro's  eyes. 

"Well,  if  a  man  has  the  guts  he  does  it  whether  he 
has  a  right  to  or  not. 

"But,  the  deuce!  Has  Milagros  deceived  you? 
Were  you  married  to  her?  You've  had  a  quarrel; 
that's  all." 

"I'll  wind  up  by  doing  something  desperate. 
Take  my  word  for  it,"  muttered  Leandro. 

Neither  spoke.  They  entered  La  Corrala, 
climbed  up  the  stairways  and  walked  into  Leandro's 
house.  They  brought  out  supper,  but  Leandro 
didn't  eat;  he  drank  three  glasses  of  water  in  succes- 
sion and  went  out  to  the  gallery. 

Manuel  was  about  to  leave  after  supper,  when 
he  heard  Leandro  call  him  several  times. 


IRRESOLUTION  145 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Come  on,  let's  be  going." 

Manuel  ran  out  to  the  balcony;  Milagros  and  her 
mother,  from  their  door,  were  neaping  insults  upon 
Leandro. 

"Outcast  I  Blackguard  1"  the  proof-reader's  wife 
was  shouting.  "If  her  father  were  here  you 
wouldn't  talk  like  that." 

"I  would,  too,  even  if  her  grandfather  were  here," 
exclaimed  Leandro,  with  a  savage  laugh.  "Come 
on,  let's  be  off,"  he  added,  turning  to  Manuel.  "I'm 
sick  and  tired  of  these  whores." 

They  left  the  gallery  and  were  soon  out  of  El 
Corralon. 

"What  was  the  matter?"  asked  Manuel. 

"Nothing.  It's  all  over  now,"  answered 
Leandro.  "I  went  in  and  said  to  her,  nice  enough, 
'Listen  Milagros,  is  it  true  that  you're  going  to 
marry  Lechuguino?'  'Yes,  it  is  true.  Is  it  any  busi- 
ness of  yours?'  she  says.  'Yes,  it  is,'  I  said  to  her. 
'You  know  that  I  like  you.  Is  it  because  he's  richer 
than  mq?'  'Even  if  he  were  poorer  than  a  church- 
mouse  I'd  marry  him.'  'Bah !'  'You  don't  believe 
me?'  'All  right.'  Finally  I  got  sore  and  I  told  her 
for  all  I  cared  she  might  marry  a  dog,  and  that  she 
was  a  cheap  street-walker.  .  .  .  It's  all  over  now. 
Well,  so  much  the  better.  Now  we  know  just  where 
we  stand.  Where  shall  we  go?  To  Las  Injurias 
again?" 

"What  for?" 

"To  see  if  that  Valencia  continues  to  put  on  airs, 
when  I'm  around." 


146  THE   QUEST 

They  crossed  the  wired-off  surrounding  path. 
Leandro,  taking  long  strides,  was  very  soon  in  Las 
Injurias.  Manuel  could  hardly  keep  up  with  him. 

They  entered  Blasa's  tavern;  the  same  men  as 
on  the  previous  night  were  playing  cane  near  the 
stove.  Of  the  women,  only  La  Pal'oma  and  La 
Muerte  were  in.  The  latter,  dead  drunk,  was  asleep 
on  the  table.  The  light  fell  full  upon  her  face  which 
was  swollen  with  erisypelas  and  covered  with  scabs; 
saliva  drooled  through  the  thick  lips  of  her  half- 
opened  mouth;  her  tow-like  hair, — grey,  filthy,  mat- 
ted,— stuck  out  in  tufts  beneath  the  faded,  greenish 
kerchief  that  was  soiled  with  scurf;  despite  the 
shouts  and  the  disputes  of  the  gamblers  she  did  not 
so  much  as  blink;  only  from  time  to  time  she  would 
give  a  prolonged  snore,  which,  at  the  start  was  sib- 
ilant, but  ended  in  a  rasping  snort.  At  her  side 
Paloma,  huddled  on  the  floor  near  Valencia,  held  a 
tot  of  three  or  four  in  her  arms, — a  pale,  delicate 
creature  who  blinked  incfessantly, — to  whom  she  was 
giving  whisky  from  a  glass. 

A  gaunt,  weak  fellow  wearing  a  small  cap  with  a 
gilded  number  and  a  blue  smock,  passed  moodily  up 
and  down  before  the  counter;  his  arms  hung  beside 
his  body  as  if  they  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  his 
legs  were  bent.  Whenever  it  occurred  to  him,  he 
took  a  sip  from  his  glass;  he  wiped  his  lips  with  the 
back  of  his  hand  and  would  resume  his  languid  pac- 
ing to  and  fro.  He  was  the  brother  of  the  woman 
who  owned  the  tavern. 

Leandro  and  Manuel  took  a  seat  at  the  same 
table  where  the  gamblers  were  playing.  Leandro 


IRRESOLUTION  147 

ordered  wine,  emptied  a  deep  glass  at  a  single  gulp 
and  heaved  a  few  sighs. 

"Christ!"  muttered  Leandro  half  under  his 
breath.  "Never  let  yourself  go  wild  over  a  woman. 
The  best  of  them  is  as  poisonous  as  a  toad." 

Then  he  seemed  to  calm  down.  He  gazed  at  the 
drawings  scratched  on  the  top  of  the  table:  there 
were  hearts  pierced  by  arrows,  the  names  of  women; 
he  drew  a  knife  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  cut 
letters  into  the  wood. 

When  he  wearied  of  this  he  invited  one  of  the 
gamblers  to  drink  with  him. 

"Thanks,  friend,"  replied  the  gambler.  "I'm 
playing.'] 

"All  right,  leave  the  game.  If  you  don't  want  to, 
nobody'll  force  you.  Doesn't  anybody  Want  to 
drink  with  me?  My  treat." 

"I'll  have  one,"  said  a  tall,  bent  fellow  with  a 
sickly  air,  who  was  called  El  Pastiri.  He  arose 
and  came  over  to  Leandro. 

Leandro  ordered  more  wine  and  amused  himself 
by  laughing  loudly  when  any  one  lost  and  in  betting 
against  Valencia. 

Pastiri  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  X 
empty  one  glass  after  the  other.  He  was  a  sot,  a 
croney  of  Tabuenca's  and  likewise  dedicated  him- 
self to  the  deception  of  the  unwary  with  ball-and- 
number  tricks.  Manuel  knew  him  from  having  seen 
him  often  on  la  Ribera  de  Curtidores.  He  used 
to  ply  his  trade  in  the  suburbs,  playing  at  three  cards. 
He  would  place  three  cards  upon  a  little 
table;  one  of  these  he  would  show,  then 


148  THEQUEST 

slowly  he  would  change  the  position  of  the  other  two, 
without  touching  the  card  he  had  shown;  he  would 
then  place  a  little  stick  across  the  three  cards  and 
wager  that  nobody  could  pick  out  the  one  he  had  let 
them  see.  And  so  well  was  the  game  prepared  that 
the  card  was  never  picked. 

Pastiri  had  another  trrdk  on  the  same  order, 
worked  with  three  men  from  a  game  of  checkers; 
underneath  one  of  the  men  he  would  place  a  tiny 
ball  of  paper  or  a  crumb  of  bread  and  then  bet  that 
nobody  could  tell  under  which  of  the  three  ball  or 
crumb  was  to  be  found.  If,  by  accident,  any  one 
chanced  upon  the  right  man,  Pastiri  would  conceal 
the  crumb  in  his  finger-nail  as  he  turned  the  man  up. 

That  night  Pastiri  was  saturated  with  alcohol  and 
had  lost  all  power  of  speech. 

Manuel,  who  had  drunk  a  little  too  much,  was 
beginning  to  feel  sick  and  considered  how  he  might 
manage  to  make  his  escape;  but  by  the  time  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  the  tavern-keeper's  brother  was 
already  locking  the  door. 

Before  he  had  quite  done  so  there  came  in, 
through  the  space  that  was  still  left  open,  an  under- 
grown  fellow,  shaved,  dressed  in  black,  with  a 
visored  woollen  cap,  curly  hair  and  the  repellant 
appearance  of  a  hermaphrodite.  He  greeted 
Leandro  affectionately.  He  was  a  lacemaker  from 
Uncle  Kilo's  house,  of  dubious  repute  and  called 
Besugito  (sea-bream)  because  his  face  suggested 
a  fish;  by  way  of  more  cruel  sobriquet  they  had 
christened  him  the  "Barrack  hack." 

The  lacemaker  took  a  sip  from  a  glass,  standing, 


IRRESOLUTION  149 

and  began  to  talk  in  a  thick  voice;  yet  it  was  a  femi- 
nine voice,  unctuous,  disagreeable,  and  he  empha- 
sized his  words  with  mimicked  wonder,  fright,  and 
other  mannerisms. 

Nobody  was  bothered  by  his  loquacity.  Some 
fine  day  when  they  least  expected,  he  informed  them, 
the  entire  district  of  Las  Injurias  was  going  to  be 
buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  the  Gas  House. 

"As  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  he  went  on,  "this  en- 
tire hollow  ought  to  be  filled  in  with  earth.  Of 
course,  I'd  feel  sorry,  for  I  have  some  good  friends 
in  this  section." 

"Ay!     Pass !"  said  one  of  the  gamblers. 

"Yes,  I'd  be  sorry,"  continued  Besuguito,  heedless 
of  the  interruption.  "But  the  truth  is  that  it  would 
be  a  small  loss,  for,  as  Angelillo,  the  district  watch- 
man says,  nobody  lives  here  except  outcasts,  pick- 
pockets and  prostitutes." 

"Shut  up,  you  'fairy!'  You  barrack  hack!" 
shouted  the  proprietress.  "This  district  is  as  good 
as  yours." 

"You're  right,  there,"  replied  Besuguito,  "for  you 
ought  to  see  the  Portillo  de  Embajadores  and  las 
Penuelas.  I  tell  you.  Why,  the  watchman  can't 
get  them  to  shut  their  doors  at  night.  He  closes 
them  and  the  neighbours  open  them  again.  Because 
they're  almost  all  denizens  of  the  underworld.  And 
they  do  give  me  such  frights.  .  .  ." 

An  uproar  greeted  the  frights  of  Besuguito,  who 
continued  unabashed  his  meaningless,  repetitious 
chatter,  which  was  adorned  with  all  manner  of 
notions  and  involutions.  Manuel  rested  an  arm 


150  THEQUEST 

upon  the  table,  and  with  his  cheek  upon  it,  he  fell 
asleep. 

"Hey  you!  Why  aren't  you  drinking,  Pastiri?" 
asked  Leandro.  "Do  you  mean  to ,  offend  me? 
Me?" 

"No,  friend,  I  simply  can't  get  any  more  down," 
answered  the  card-sharper  in  his  insolent  voice, 
raising  his  open  hand  to  his  throat.  Then,  in  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  come  from  a  broken  organ,  he 
shouted: 

"Paloma!" 

"Who's  calling  that  woman?"  demanded  Val- 
encia immediately,  glaring  at  the  group  of  gam- 
blers. 

"I,"  answered  El  Pastiri.  "I  want  Paloma  over 
here." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  You?  Well,  there's  nothing  doing," 
declared  Valencia. 

"I  said  I  want  Paloma  over  here,"  repeated 
Pastiri,  without  looking  at  the  bully. 

The  latter  pretended  not  to  have  heard.  The 
card-sharper,  provoked  by  this  discourtesy,  got  up 
and,  slapping  Valencia's  sleeve  with  the  back  of 
his  hand,  he  repeated  his  words,  dwelling  upon  every 
syllable : 

"I  said  that  I  wanted  Paloma,  and  that  these 
friends  of  mine  want  to  talk  with  the  lady." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  there's  nothing  doing,"  an- 
swered the  other. 

"Those  gentlemen  want  to  talk  with  her." 

"All  right.  .  .  .  Then  let  them  ask  my  permis- 


sion." 


IRRESOLUTION  151 

Pastiri  thrust  his  face  into  the  bully's,  and  looking 
him  straight  in  the  eye,  croaked: 

"Do  you  realize,  Valencia,  that  you're  getting  alto- 
gether too  damned  high  and  mighty?" 

"You  don't  say!"  sneered  Valencia,  calmly  con- 
tinuing his  game. 

"Do  you  know  that  I'm  going  to  let  you  have  a 
couple  with  my  fist?" 

"You  don't  say!" 

Pastiri  drew  back  with  drunken  awkwardness  and 
began  to  hunt  in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  for 
his  knife,  amidst  the  derisive  laughter  of  the  by- 
standers. Then  all  at  once,  with  a  sudden  resolve, 
Leandro  jumped  to  his  feet,  his  face  as  red  as  flame; 
he  seized  Valencia  by  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  gave  him 
a  rude  tug  and  sent  him  smashing  against  the  wall. 

The  gamblers  rushed  into  the  fray;  the  table  was 
overturned  and  there  was  a  pandemonium  of  cries 
and  curses.  Manuel  awoke  with  a  frightened  start. 
He  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  an  awful  row; 
most  of  the  gamblers,  with  the  tavern-owner's 
brother  at  their  head,  wanted  to  throw  Leandro  out, 
but  the  raging  youth,  backed  against  the  counter, 
was  kicking  off  anybody  that  approached  him. 

"Leave  us  alone!"  shouted  Valencia,  his  lips  slav- 
ering as  he  tried  to  work  himself  free  of  the  men 
who  were  holding  him. 

"Yes,  leave  them  alone,"  said  one  of  the  gamblers. 

"I'll  kill  the  first  guy  that  touches  me,"  warned  El 
Valencia,  displaying  a  long  knife  with  black  blades. 

"That's  the  stuff,"  commented  Leandro  mock- 
ingly. "Let's  see  who  are  the  red-blooded  men." 


152  THE   QUEST 

"Ole!"  shouted  Pastiri  enthusiastically,  in  his 
husky  voice. 

Leandro  drew  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  sack- 
coat  a  long,  narrow  knife;  the  onlookers  retreated 
to  the  walls  so  as  to  leave  plenty  of  room  for  the 
duellists.  Paloma  began  to  bawl : 

"You'll  get  killed  I  You'll  get  killed,  I'm  telling 
you!" 

"Take  that  woman  away,"  yelled  Valencia  in  a 
tragic  voice:  uEa!"  he  added,  cleaving  the  air 
with  his  knife.  "Now  let's  see  who  are  the  men  with 
guts !" 

The  two  rivals  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the 
tavern,  glaring  furiously  at  each  other.  The  spec- 
tators were  enthralled  by  mingled  interest  and 
horror. 

Valencia  was  the  first  to  attack;  he  bent  forward 
as  if  to  seek  out  where  to  strike  his  opponent;  he 
crouched,  aimed  at  the  groin  and  lunged  forward 
upon  Leandro;  but  seeing  that  Leandro  awaited  him 
calmly  without  retreating,  he  rapidly  recoiled.  Then 
he  resumed  his  false  attacks,  trying  to  surprise  his 
adversary  with  these  feints,  threatening  his  stomach 
yet  all  the  while  aiming  to  stab  him  in  the  face; 
but  before  the  rigid  arm  of  Leandro,  who  seemed 
to  be  sparing  every  motion  until  he  should  strike  a 
sure  blow,  the  bully  grew  disconcerted  and  once  again 
drew  back.  Then  Leandro  advanced.  The  youth 
came  on  with  such  sangfroid  that  he  struck  terror 
into  his  opponent's  heart;  his  face  bespoke  his  de- 
termination to  transfix  Valencia.  An  oppressive 
silence  weighed  upon  the  tavern;  only  the  sounds  of 


IRRESOLUTION  153 

Paloma's  convulsive  sobs  were  heard  from  the  ad- 
joining room. 

Valencia,  divining  Leandro's  resolve,  grew  so  pale 
that  his  face  turned  a  sickly  blue,  his  eyes  distended 
and  his  teeth  began  to  chatter.  At  Leandro's  first 
lunge  he  retreated,  but  remained  on  guard;  then 
his  fear  overcame  him  and  abandoning  all  thought 
of  attack  he  took  to  flight,  knocking  over  the  chairs. 
Leandro,  blind,  smiling  cruelly,  gave  implacable 
pursuit. 

It  was  a  sad,  painful  sight;  all  the  partizans  of 
the  bully  began  to  eye  him  with  scorn. 

"Now,  you  yellow-liver,  you  show  the  white 
feather!"  shouted  Pastiri.  "You're  flitting  about 
like  a  grasshopper.  Off  with  you,  my  boy !  You're 
in  for  it  I  If  you  don't  get  out  right  away  you'll 
be  feeling  a  palm's  length  of  steel  in  your  ribs !" 

One  of  Leandro's  thrusts  ripped  the  bully's  jacket. 

The  thug,  now  possessed  of  the  wildest  panic, 
'dashed  behind  the  counter;  his  popping  eyes  re- 
flected mad  terror. 

Leandro,  insolently  scornful,  stood  rigidly  in  the 
middle  of  the  tavern;  pulling  the  springs  of  his 
knife,  he  closed  it.  A  murmur  of  admiration  arose 
from  the  spectators. 

Valencia  uttered  a  cry  of  pain,  as  if  he  had  been 
wounded;  his  honour,  his  repute  as  a  bold  man,  had 
suffered  a  downfall.  Desperately  he  made  his  way 
to  the  door  of  the  back  room,  and  looked  at  the 
panting  proprietress.  She  must  have  understood 
him,  for  she  passed  him  a  key  and  Valencia  sneaked 
out.  But  soon  the  door  of  the  back  room  opened 


154  THE   QUEST 

and  the  bully  stood  there  anew;  brandishing  his  long 
knife  by  the  point  he  threw  it  furiously  at  Leandro's 
face.  The  weapon  whizzed  through  the  air  like  a 
terrible  arrow  and  pierced  the  wall,  where  it  stuck, 
quivering. 

At  once  Leandro  sprang  up,  but  Valencia  had  dis- 
appeared. Then,  having  recovered  from  the  sur- 
prise, the  youth  calmly  dislodged  the  knife,  closed  it 
and  handed  it  to  the  tavern-keeper. 

"When  a  fellow  don't  know  how  to  use  these 
things,"  he  said,  petulantly,  "he  ought  to  keep  away 
from  them.  Tell  that  gentleman  so  when  you  next 
see  him." 

The  proprietress  answered  with  a  grunt,  and 
Leandro  sat  down  to  receive  general  congratulations 
upon  his  courage  and  his  coolness;  everybody  wanted 
to  treat  him. 

"This  Valencia  was  beginning  to  make  too  much 
trouble,  anyway,"  said  one  of  them.  "Did  as  he 
pleased  every  night  and  he  got  away  with  it  be- 
cause it  was  Valencia;  but  he  was  getting  too  darned 
fresh." 

"That's  what,"  replied  another  of  the  players,  a 
grim  old  jailbird  who  had  escaped  from  the  Ceuta 
penitentiary  and  who  looked  just  like  a  fox.  "When 
a  guy  has  the  nerve,  he  rakes  in  all  the  dough," 
and  he  made  a  gesture  of  scooping  up  all  the  coins 
on  the  table  in  his  fingers — "and  he  skips." 

"But  this  Valencia  is  a  coward,"  said  Pastiri  in 
his  thick  voice.  "A  big  mouth  with  a  bark  worse 
than  his  bite  and  not  worth  a  slap." 

"He  was  on  his  guard  right  away.     In  case  of 


IRRESO'LUTION  155 

accident!"  replied  Besuguito  in  his  queer  voice,  imi- 
tating the  posture  of  one  who  is  about  to  attack  with 
a  knife. 

"I  tell  you,"  exclaimed  El  Pastiri,  "he's  a  booby, 
and  he's  scared  so  stiff  he  can't  stand." 

"Yes,  but  he  answered  every  thrust,  just  the 
same,"  added  the  lace-maker. 

"Yah!     Did  you  see  him?" 

"Certainly." 

"Bah,  you  must  be  soused  to  the  gills !" 

"You  only  wish  you  were  as  sober  as  I.     Bah!" 

"What?     You're  so  full  you  can't  talk!" 

"Go  on;  shut  up.  You're  so  drunk  you  can't 
stand;  I  tell  you,  if  you  run  afoul  of  this  guy" — and 
Besuguito  pointed  to  Leandro — "you're  in  for  a  bad 
time." 

"Hell,  no!" 

"That's  my  opinion,  anyhow." 

"You  don't  have  any  opinion  here,  or  anything 
like  it,"  exclaimed  Leandro.  "You're  going  to  clear 
out  and  shut  up.  Valencia's  liver  is  whiter  than 
paper;  it's  as  Pastiri  says.  Brave  enough  when  it 
comes  to  exploiting  boobs  like  you  and  the  other 
tramps  and  low  lives,  .  .  .  but  when  he  bucks  up 
against  a  chap  that's  all  there,  hey?  Bah!  He's 
a  white-livered  wretch,  that's  what." 

"True,"  assented  all. 

"And  maybe  we  won't  let  him  hear  a  few  things," 
said  the  escaped  convict,  "if  he  has  the  nerve  to 
return  here  for  his  share  of  the  winnings." 

"I  should  say!"  exclaimed  Pastiri. 

"Very  well,  gentlemen,  it's  my  treat  now,"  said 


156  THEQUEST 

Leandro,  "for  I've  got  the  money  and  I  happen  to 
feel  like  it."  He  fished  out  a  couple  of  coins  from 
his  pocket  and  slapped  them  down  on  the  table. 
"Lady,  let's  have  something  to  drink." 

"Right  away." 

"Manuel!  Manuel!"  shouted  Leandro  several 
times.  "Where  in  thunder  has  that  kid  disap- 
peared?" 

Manuel,  following  the  example  of  the  bully,  had 
made  his  escape  by  the  back  door. 


CHAPTER  IX 

An     Unlikely     Tale — Manuel's     Sisters — Life's     Baffling 
Problems. 

IT  was  already  the  beginning  of  autumn;  Lean- 
dro,  on  the  advice  of  Serior  Ignacio,  was  living 
with  his  aunt  on  Aguila  street;  Milagros  con- 
tinued keeping  company  with  Lechuguino.  Manuel 
gave  up  going  with  Vidal  and  Bizco  on  their  skir- 
mishes and  joined  the  company  of  Rebolledo  and 
the  two  Aristas. 

The  elder,  Ariston,  entertained  him  and  fright- 
ened him  out  of  his  wits  with  lugubrious  tales  of 
cemeteries  and  ghosts;  the  little  Aristas  continued 
his  gymnastic  exercises;  he  had  constructed  a  spring- 
board by  placing  a  plank  upon  a  heap  of  sand  and 
there  he  practised  his  death-defying  leaps. 

One  day  Alonso,  Tabuenca's  aid,  appeared  in  the 
Corralon  accompanied  by  a  woman  and  a  little  girl. 

The  woman  seemed  old  and  weary;  the  tot  was 
long  and  thin  and  pale.  Don  Alonso  found  them  a 
place  in  a  dingy  corner  of  the  small  patio. 

They  brought  with  them  a  small  bundle  of  clothes, 
a  dirty  poodle  with  a  very  intelligent  look,  and  a 
monkey  tied  to  a  chain;  in  a  short  while  they  had 
to  sell  the  monkey  to  some  gipsies  that  lived  in  the 
Quinta  de  Goya. 


158  THEQUEST 

Don  Alonso  called  Manuel  and  said  to  him: 

"Run  off  and  hunt  up  Don  Roberto,  and  tell  him 
that  there's  a  woman  here  named  Rosa,  and  that  she 
is  or  has  been  a  circus  acrobat;  she  must  be  the  one 
he's  looking  for." 

At  once  Manuel  went  off  to  the  house;  Roberto 
had  left  the  place  and  Manuel  did  not  know  his 
whereabouts. 

Don  Alonso  came  frequently  to  the  Corralon  and 
conversed  with  the  mother  and  the  girl.  On  the 
window-sill  of  their  tiny  home  the  mother  and  the 
daughter  had  a  little  box  with  a  sprig  of  mint 
planted  in  it;  although  they  watered  it  every  morn- 
ing, it  scarcely  grew,  for  there  was  no  sun.  One 
day  the  woman  and  child  disappeared  together  with 
their  pretty  poodle;  they  left  nothing  in  their 
quarters  except  a  worn-out,  broken  tambourine. 

Don  Alonso  got  into  the  habit  of  visiting  the 
Corralon;  he  would  exchange  a  few  words  with 
Rebolledo,  he  of  the  modernist  barber-shop  who 
chattered  away,  and  would  witness  the  gymnastic 
prowess  of  Aristas.  One  afternoon  the  boy's 
mother  asked  the  former  Snake-Man  whether  the 
child  showed  any  real  aptitude. 

Don  Alonso  grew  serious  and  subjected  the  boy's 
performance  to  a  searching  examination,  so  that  he 
could  form  an  estimate  of  the  youngster's  abilities 
and  give  him  a  little  useful  advice. 

It  was  really  curious  to  see  the  former  circus- 
player  give  his  orders;  he  went  through  them  with 
august  seriousness. 


AN   UNLIKELY   TALE        159 

"One,  two,  three.  .  .  .  Hop-la !  .  .  .  Once  more, 
now.  At  position.  The  knees  near  the  head  .  .  . 
nails  down  .  .  .  One,  two  .  .  .  one,  two.  .  .  . 
Hop-la  I" 

Don  Alonso  was  not  at  all  displeased  with  little 
Aristas'  showing,  but  he  emphasized  the  unavoidable 
necessity  of  continual  hard  practise. 

"Whoever  wants  something  has  to  pay  the  price, 
my  little  fellow,"  he  said.  "And  the  profession  of 
gymnast  isn't  within  everybody's  reach." 

To  the  mother  he  confided  that  her  son  might 
some  day  be  a  fine  circus  artist. 

Then  Don  Alonso,  finding  himself  before  a  nu- 
merous public,  would  begin  to  talk  volubly  of  the 
United  States,  of  Mexico,  and  the  South  American 
republics. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  us  stories  of  the  countries 
you've  been  to?"  asked  Perico  Rebolledo. 

"No,  not  now;  I  have  to  go  out  with  the  Infiel 
Tower." 

"Ah!     Go  on,  tell  us,"  they  would  all  implore. 

Don  Alonso  pretended  to  be  importuned  by  the 
request;  but  when  he  got  going,  he  spun  one  yarn 
after  the  other  in  such  numbers  that  they  almost 
had  to  beg  him  to  stop. 

"And  didn't  you  ever  see  in  those  countries  men 
who  had  been  killed  by  lions?"  asked  Ariston. 

"No." 

"Then  there  aren't  any  lions?" 

"Lions  in  cages  .  .  .  yes,  a  lot." 

"But  I  mean  at  liberty,  in  the  fields." 

"In  the  fields?     No." 


160  THEQUEST 

Don  Alonso  seemed  rather  provoked  to  make 
these  confessions. 

"No  other  wild  beasts,  either?" 

"There  are  no  longer  any  wild  beasts  in  the  civil- 
ized countries,"  said  the  barber. 

"Why,  see  here,  there  certainly  are  wild  beasts 
over  there,"  and  Don  Alonso,  wrinkling  his  features 
into  a  jesting  grimace,  winked  slily  at  Rebolledo. 
"Once  a  terrible  thing  happened  to  me;  we  were 
sailing  by  an  island  when  we  heard  cannon  shots. 
It  was  the  garrison  firing  off  a  salvo." 

"But  what  are  you  laughing  at?"  asked  Ariston. 

"Nervousness.  .  .  .  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I 
went  up  to  the  captain  of  the  ship  and  asked  his  per- 
mission to  let  me  land  on  the  island.  'Very  well,' 
he  said  to  me,  'take  the  Golondrina,  if  you  wish,' — 
Golondrina  was  the  name  of  the  canoe;  'but  you 
must  be  back  within  a  couple  of  hours.' 

"I  set  off  in  my  boat  and  hala!  hala!  ...  I 
reached  the  island,  which  was  thickly  planted  with 
plane-trees  and  cocoanut-trees,  and  I  disembarked 
on  the  beach  into  which  the  Golondrina  had  thrust 
its  prow." 

Here  Don  Alonso's  features  were  convulsed  with 
the  impossibility  of  restraining  his  laughter;  he  shot 
a  glance  at  the  barber,  accompanied  by  a  confiden- 
tial wink. 

"I  land,"  he  continued,  "then  I  start  running,  and 
soon,  paf!  ...  in  the  face;  a  huge  mosquito,  and 
then,  paf!  .  .  .  another  mosquito,  until  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  swarm  of  the  animals,  each  one  as 
large  as  a  bat.  With  a  scarred  face  I  begin  to  run 


AN   UNLIKELY   TALE        161 

for  the  beach  so  as  to  escape  in  my  canoe,  when  I 
catch  sight  of  a  lobster  right  next  to  the  Golondrina ; 
but  what  a  lobster!  He  must  have  been  as  big  as 
a  bear;  he  was  black,  and  shiny,  and  went  chug, 
chug,  chug,  like  an  automobile.  No  sooner  did 
the  creature  set  eyes  on  me  than  he  began  to  rush 
upon  me  with  loud  outcries;  I  ran  for  a  cocoa- 
nut  tree,  and  one,  two,  three,  I  shinnied  right  up  the 
trunk  to  the  top.  The  lobster  approaches  the  tree, 
stops  meditatively,  and  decides  to  shinny  up  after 
me, — which  he  did." 

"An   awful   situation,"   commented   the  barber. 

"Just  imagine,"  replied  Don  Alonso,  blinking. 
"I  only  had  a  little  stick  in  my  hands,  and  I  defended 
myself  against  the  lobster  by  hitting  him  in  the 
knuckles ;  but  he,  roaring  with  rage,  and  eyes  shining, 
continued  climbing.  I  couldn't  get  any  farther,  and 
I  was  thinking  of  coming  down;  but  as  I  made  a 
movement,  biff!  .  .  .  The  son  of  a  sea-cook  grabs 
me  with  one  of  his  many  legs  by  the  coat  and  re- 
mains there  hanging  from  me.  The  cussed  critter 
was  as  heavy  as  lead;  he  was  already  reaching  up 
after  me  with  another  claw  when  I  remembered  that 
I  had  in  my  vest  pocket  a  toothpick  that  I  had 
bought  in  Chicago,  and  that  it  had  a  knife  attach- 
ment; I  opened  this,  and  in  a  moment  slashed  off  the 
tail  of  my  coat,  and  cataplun!  .  .  .  down  from  a 
height  of  at  least  forty  metres  the  lobster  fell  to  the 
ground.  I  can't  understand  how  he  wasn't  killed. 
There  he  began  to  cry  and  howl,  and  go  round  and 
round  the  cocoanut  tree  in  which  I  was,  glaring  at 
me  with  his  terrible  eyes.  Whereupon  I — for  be- 


162  THEQUEST 

ing  a  gymnast  had  to  come  in  handy  to  a  fellow, 
— began  to  leap  from  one  cocoanut  tree  to  the  next 
and  from  one  plane-tree  to  the  other,  while  the  lob- 
ster kept  following  me,  howling  away  with  the  tail 
of  my  coat  in  his  teeth. 

"Reaching  near  the  beach  I  find  that  the  tide 
has  gone  out  and  that  the  Golondrina  is  more  than 
fifty  metres  above  the  waves.  Til  wait,'  I  said  to 
myself.  But  at  this  moment  I  see,  thrusting  its  head 
out  from  the  tree-top  that  I  was  then  on,  a  serpent; 
I  seize  a  branch,  swing  up  and  back  for  a  while  so 
that  I  can  land  as  far  as  possible  from  the  lobster, 
when  the  damned  branch  breaks  on  me  and  I  lose 
my  support." 

"And  what  did  you  do  then?"  asked  the  barber. 

"I  took  two  somersaults  in  the  air  at  a  hazard." 

"That  was  a  useful  precaution." 

"Certainly  I  thought  I  was  lost.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  was  saved." 

"But  how?"  asked  El  Ariston. 

"Very  simple.  For  as  I  fell,  with  the  branch 
in  my  hand,  I  landed  plump  on  the  lobster,  and  as  I 
came  down  with  such  a  high  velocity,  I  pierced  him 
right  through  with  the  branch  and  left  him  nailed 
to  the  beach.  The  animal  roared  like  a  bull;  I 
jumped  into  the  Golondrina  and  made  my  escape. 
But  my  vessel  had  sailed  away.  I  began  to  row,  but 
there  wasn't  a  sail  in  sight.  'I'm  lost,'  says  I  to  my- 
self. But  thanks  to  the  lobster,  I  was  rescued.  .  .  ." 

"The  lobster?"  asked  everybody  in  amazement. 

"Yes  sirree;  a  steamboat  that  was  on  its  course 
many  miles  off,  on  hearing  the  lobster's  wails  thought 


AN   UNLIKELY   TALE        163 

that  this  might  be  the  signal  of  some  shipwrecked 
crew;  it  drew  near  the  island,  picked  me  up,  and 
in  a  few  days  I  was  back  with  my  company." 

As  he  finished  his  tale  Don  Alonso  made  a  most 
expressive  grimace,  and  left  with  his  Infiel  Tower  for 
the  street.  Aristas,  Rebolledo  and  Manuel  ap- 
plauded the  old  circus  man's  stories,  and  the  appren- 
tice gymnast  felt  more  determined  than  ever  to 
continue  practicing  upon  the  trapeze  and  the  spring- 
board, so  that  some  day  he  might  behold  those  dis- 
tant lands  of  which  Don  Alonso  spoke. 

A  few  weeks  later  there  occurred  one  of  the  events 
that  left  upon  Manuel  the  deepest  impression  of 
his  entire  career.  It  was  Sunday;  the  boy  went  to 
his  mother's  place,  and  helped  her,  as  usual,  to  wash 
the  dishes.  Then  came  Petra's  daughters,  and  they 
spent  the  whole  afternoon  quarrelling  over  a  skirt 
or  a  petticoat  that  the  younger  had  bought  with  the 
elder  sister's  money. 

Manuel,  bored  by  the  chatter,  invented  some  ex- 
cuse and  left  the  house. 

The  rain  was  coming  down  in  bucketfuls ;  Manuel 
reached  the  Puerta  del  Sol,  entered  the  cafe  de 
Levante  and  sat  down  near  the  window.  The  peo- 
ple outside,  dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  scam- 
pered by  to  places  of  refuge  in  the  wide  doorways 
of  the  big  square;  the  coaches  rumbled  hurriedly  on 
amidst  the  downpour;  umbrellas  came  and  went  and 
their  black  tops,  glistening  with  rain,  collided  and 
intertwined  like  a  shoal  of  tortoises.  Presently  it 
cleared  up  and  Manuel  left  the  cafe;  it  was  still  too 
early  to  return  to  the  house;  he  crossed  the  Plaza 


164  THE   QUEST 

de  Oriente  and  stopped  on  the  Viaduct,  watching 
from  that  point  the  people  strolling  along  Segovia 
street. 

In  the  sky,  which  was  becoming  serene,  floated  a 
few  dark  clouds  with  silver  linings,  resembling  moun- 
tains capped  with  snow;  blown  by  the  wind,  they 
scurried  along  with  outspread  wings;  the  bright 
sun  illumined  the  fields  with  its  golden  rays;  re- 
splendent in  the  clouds,  it  reddened  them  like  live 
coals;  a  few  cloudlets  scudded  through  space,  white 
flakes  of  foam.  The  hillocks  and  dales  of  the  Ma- 
drilenian  suburbs  were  not  yet  mottled  with  green 
grass;  the  trees  of  the  Campo  del  Moro  stood  out 
reddish,  skeleton-like,  amidst  the  foliage  of  the  ever- 
greens; dark  rolls  of  vapour  rose  along  the  ground, 
soon  to  be  swept  away  by  the  wind.  As  the  clouds 
passed  by  overhead,  the  plain  changed  hue;  succes- 
sively it  graded  from  purple  into  leaden-grey,  yellow, 
copper;  the  Extremadura  cart-road,  with  the  rows 
of  grey,  dirty  houses  on  each  side,  traced  a  broken 
line.  This  severe,  melancholy  landscape  of  the  Ma- 
drilenian  suburbs,  with  their  bleak,  cold  gloominess, 
penetrated  into  Manuel's  soul. 

He  left  the  Viaduct  balcony,  sauntered  through 
several  narrow  lanes,  until  he  reached  Toledo  Street, 
walked  down  the  Ronda  and  turned  in  toward  his 
house.  He  was  getting  near  the  Paseo  de  las 
Acacias  when  he  overheard  two  old  women  talking 
about  a  crime  that  had  just  been  committed  at  the 
corner  of  Amparo  Street. 

"And  just  as  they  were  about  to  catch  him,  he 
killed  himself,"  one  of  them  ivas  saying. 


AN   UNLIKELY   TALE        165 

Out  of  curiosity  Manuel  hastened  his  step,  and 
approached  a  group  that  was  discussing  the  event 
at  the  entrance  to  the  Corralon. 

"Where  did  this  fellow  come  from  that  killed 
himself?"  asked  Manuel  of  Aristas. 

"Why!     It  was  Leandro!" 

"Leandro!" 

"Yes,  Leandro,  who  killed  Mllagros  and  then 
killed  himself." 

"But  ...  is  this  really  so?" 

"Yes,  man.     Just  a  moment  ago." 

"Here?     In  the  house?" 

"On  this  very  spot." 

Manuel,  quaking  with  fear,  ran  up  the  stairs  to 
the  gallery.  The  floor  was  still  stained  with  the 
pool  of  blood.  Senor  Zurro,  the  only  witness  to  the 
drama,  was  telling  the  story  to  a  group  of  neigh- 
bours. 

"I  was  here,  reading  the  paper,"  said  the  old- 
clothes  man,  "and  Milagros  and  her  mother  were 
talking  to  Lechuguino.  The  engaged  couple  were 
enjoying  themselves,  when  up  comes  Leandro  to  the 
gallery;  he  was  about  to  open  the  door  to  his  rooms 
when,  before  he  went  in,  he  suddenly  turned  to 
Milagros.  'Is  that  your  sweetheart?'  he  said  to 
her.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  as  pale  as  a 
corpse.  'Yes,'  she  answered.  'All  right.  Then 
I've  come  here  to  end  things  once  and  for  all,'  he 
shouted.  'Which  of  the  two  do  you  prefer,  him  or 
rne?'  'Him,'  shrieks  Milagros.  'Then  it's  all  up,' 
cried  Leandro  in  a  hoarse  voice.  'I'm  going  to  kill 
you.'  After  that  I  can't  recall  anything  clearly;  it 


166  THE   QUEST 

was  all  as  swift  as  a  thunderbolt;  when  I  ran  over  to 
them,  the  girl  was  gushing  blood  from  her 
mouth;  the  proof-reader's  wife  was  screaming  and 
Leandro  was  chasing  Lechuguino  with  his  knife 
opened." 

"I  saw  him  leave  the  house,"  added  an  old 
woman.  "He  was  waving  his  blood-stained  knife  in 
the  air;  my  husband  tried  to  stop  him;  but  he  backed 
like  a  bull,  lunged  for  him  and  came  near  killing 
him." 

"And  where  are  my  uncle  and  aunt?"  asked  Man- 
uel. 

"Over  at  the  Emergency  Hospital.  They  fol- 
lowed the  stretcher." 

Manuel  went  down  into  the  patio. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Ariston. 

"To  the  Emergency  Hospital." 

"I'll  go  along  with  you." 

The  two  boys  were  joined  by  a  machine  shop, 
apprentice  who  lived  in  the  Corrala. 

"I  saw  him  kill  himself,"  said  the  apprentice. 
"We  were  all  running  after  him,  hollering,  'Catch 
him!  Stop  him!'  when  two  guards  appeared  on 
Amparo  Street,  drew  their  swords  and  blocked  his 
way.  Then  Leandro  bounded  back,  made  his  way 
through  the  people  and  landed  here  again;  he  was 
going  to  escape  through  the  Paseo  de  las  Acacias 
when  he  stumbled  against  La  Muerte,  who  began  to 
call  him  names.  Leandro  stopped,  looked  in  every 
direction;  nobody  dared  to  get  near  him;  his  eyes 
were  blazing.  Suddenly  he  jabbed  the  knife  into 
his  left  side  I  don't  know  how  many  times.  When 


AN   UNLIKELY    TALE        167 

one  of  the  guards  seized  him  by  the  arm  he  collapsed 
like  an  empty  sack." 

The  commentary  of  Ariston  and  the  apprentice 
proved  endless;  the  boys  arrived  at  the  Emergency 
Hospital  and  were  told  that  the  corpses,  those  of 
Milagros  and  Leandro,  had  been  taken  to  the 
Morgue.  The  three  gamins  walked  down  to  the 
Canal,  to  the  little  house  near  the  river's  edge, 
which  Manuel  and  the  urchins  of  his  gang  had  so 
often  visited,  trying  to  peep  into  the  windows.  A 
knot  of  people  had  gathered  about  the  door. 

"Let's  have  a  look,"  said  Ariston. 

There  was  a  window,  wide  open,  and  they  peered 
in.  Stretched  upon  a  marble  slab  lay  Leandro;  his 
face  was  the  color  of  wax,  and  his  features  bore 
an  expression  of  proud  defiance.  At  his  side  Sefiora 
Leandro  stood  wailing  and  vociferating;  Senor  Ig- 
nacio,  with  his  son's  hand  clasped  in  his  own,  was 
Veeping  silently.  At  another  table  a  group  sur- 
rounded Milagro's  corpse.  The  man  in  charge  of 
the  morgue  ordered  them  all  out.  As  the  proof- 
reader and  Senor  Ignacio  met  at  the  entrance  they 
exchanged  looks  and  then  averted  their  glance ;  the 
two  mothers,  on  the  other  hand,  glared  at  each  other 
in  terrible  hatred. 

Senor  Ignacio  arranged  that  they  should  not  sleep 
at  the  Corralon  but  in  Aguila  Street.  In  that  place, 
at  the  home  of  Senora  Jacoba,  there  was  a  horrible 
confusion  of  weeping  and  cursing.  The  three 
women  blamed  Milagros  for  everything;  she  was  a 
common  strumpet,  an  evil  woman,  a  selfish,  wretched 
ingrate. 


168  THEQUEST 

One  of  the  neighbours  of  the  Corrala  indicated  a 
strange  detail:  when  the  public  doctor  came  to 
examine  Milagros  and  remove  her  corset  so  that  he 
might  determine  the  wound,  he  found  a  tiny  medal- 
lion containing  a  portrait  of  Leandro. 

"Whose  picture  is  this?"  he  is  reported  to  have 
asked. 

"The  fellow  who  killed  her,"  they  answered. 

This  was  exceedingly  strange,  and  it  fascinated 
Manuel;  many  a  time  he  had  thought  that  Milagros 
really  loved  Leandro;  this  fairly  confirmed  his  con- 
jectures. 

During  all  that  night  Senor  Ignacio,  seated  on  a 
chair,  wept  without  cease;  Vidal  was  scared  through 
and  through,  as  was  Manuel.  The  presence  of 
death,  seen  so  near,  had  terrorized  the  two  boys. 

And  while  inside  the  house  everybody  was  crying, 
in  the  streets  the  little  girls  were  dancing  around  in 
a  ring.  And  this  contrast  of  anguish  and  serenity, 
of  grief  and  calm,  imparted  to  Manuel  a  confused 
sense  of  life.  It  must,  he  thought,  be  something 
exceedingly  sad,  and  something  weirdly  inscrutable. 


Uncle   Patas'    Domestic  Drama — The   Bakery — Karl   the 
Baker — The  Society  of  the  Three. 

THE  death  of  his  son  made  such  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  Senor  Ignacio  that  he  fell  ill. 
He  gave  up  working  in  the  shop  and  as  he 
showed  no  improvement  after  two  or  three  weeks, 
Leandra  said  to  Manuel: 

"See  here:  better  be  off  to  your  mother's  place, 
for  I  can't  keep  you  here." 

Manuel  returned  to  the  lodging-house  and  Petra, 
through  the  intercession  of  the  landlady,  procured 
her  son  a  job  as  errand-boy  at  a  bread  and  vegetable 
stand  situated  upon  the  Plaza  del  Carmen. 

Manuel  was  here  more  oppressed  than  at  Senor 
Ignacio's.  Uncle  Patas,  the  proprietor,  a  heavy, 
burly  Galician,  instructed  the  youth  in  his  duties. 

He  was  to  get  up  at  daybreak,  open  the  store, 
untie  the  bundles  of  greens  that  were  brought  by  a 
boy  from  the  Plaza  de  la  Cebada  and  receive  the 
bread  that  was  left  by  the  delivery-men.  Then  he 
was  to  sweep  the  place  and  wait  for  Uncle  Patas,  his 
wife  or  sister-in-law  to  awake.  As  soon  as  one  of 
these  came  in  Manuel  would  leave  his  place  behind 
the  counter  and,  balancing  a  little  basket  upon  his 
head,  would  start  off  on  his  route  delivering  bread  to 

171 


172  THE   QUEST 

the  customers  of  the  vicinity.  This  going  and 
returning  would  take  all  the  morning.  In  the  after- 
noon the  work  was  harder:  Manuel  would  have  to 
stand  quietly  behind  the  counter  in  utter  boredom, 
under  the  surveillance  of  the  propietor's  wife  and 
his  sister-in-law. 

Accustomed  to  his  daily  strolls  through  the 
Rondas,  Manuel  was  rendered  desperate  by  this 
immobility. 

Uncle  Patas'  store,  a  tiny,  ill-smelling  hole,  was 
papered  in  yellow  with  green  borders;  the  paper  was 
coming  off  from  sheer  old  age.  A  wooden  counter, 
a  few  dirty  shelves,  an  oil  lamp  hanging  from  the 
ceiling  and  two  benches  comprised  the  fixtures. 

The  back  room,  which  was  reached  by  a  door  at 
the  rear,  was  a  compartment  with  no  more  light  than 
could  filter  in  through  a  transom  that  opened  upon 
the  vestibule.  This  was  the  dining-room  and  led 
to  the  kitchen,  which  in  turn  gave  access  to  a  narrow, 
very  filthy  patio  with  a  fountain.  At  the  other  side 
of  the  patio  were  the  bedrooms  of  Uncle  Patas,  his 
wife  and  his  sister-in-law. 

Manuel's  sleeping  quarters  were  a  straw-bed  and 
a  couple  of  old  cloaks  behind  the  counter.  Here, 
especially  at  night,  it  reeked  of  rotten  cabbage :  but 
what  bothered  Manuel  even  more  was  the  get- 
ting up  at  dawn,  when  the  watchman  struck  two  or 
three  blows  with  his  pike  upon  the  door  of  the  store. 

They  sold  something  in  the  shop, — enough  to  live 
on  and  no  more.  In  this  hovel  Uncle  Patas  had 
saved  up  a  fortune  centime  by  centime. 

Uncle    Patas'    history    was    really    interesting. 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     173 

Manuel  had  learned  it  from  the  gossip  of  the  men 
who  delivered  the  bread  and  from  the  boys  in  the 
other  stores. 

Uncle  Patas  had  come  to  Madrid  from  a  hamlet 
of  Lugo,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  in  search  of  a  living. 
Within  twenty  years,  by  dint  of  unbelievable 
economies,  he  had  hoarded  up  from  his  wages  in  a 
bakery  some  three  or  four  thousand  pesetas,  and 
with  this  capital  he  established  a  little  grocery.  His 
wife  stood  behind  the  counter  while  he  continued  to 
work  in  the  bakery  and  hoard  his  earnings.  When 
his  son  grew  up  he  assigned  to  the  boy  the  running  of 
a  tavern  and  then  of  a  pawnbroker-shop.  It  was 
during  this  prosperous  epoch  that  Uncle  Patas'  wife 
died,  and  the  man,  now  a  widower,  wishing  to  taste 
the  sweets  of  life,  which  had  thus  far  proved  so  fruit- 
less, married  again  despite  his  fifty-odd  years;  the 
bride,  a  lass  that  came  from  his  own  province, 
was  only  twenty  and  her  sole  object  in  marrying  was 
to  change  from  servant  to  mistress.  All  of  Uncle 
Patas'  friends  tried  to  convince  him  that  it  was  a 
monstrosity  for  a  man  of  his  years  to  wed,  and  such 
a  young  girl  at  that;  but  he  persisted  in  his  notions 
and  married. 

Within  two  months  after  the  marriage  the  son 
had  come  to  an  understanding  with  his  step-mother, 
and  shortly  after  this  the  elderly  husband  made  the 
discovery.  One  day  he  played  the  spy  and  saw  his 
son  and  his  wife  leave  an  assignation  house  in  Santa 
Margarita  Street.  Perhaps  the  man  intended  to 
take  harsh  steps,  to^peak  a  few  unvarnished  words 
to  the  couple;  but  as  he  was  soft  and  peaceful  by 


174  THEQUEST 

nature,  and  did  not  wish  to  disturb  his  business,  he 
let  the  time  go  by  and  grew  little  by  little  accustomed 
to  his  position.  Somewhat  later,  Uncle  Patas'  wife 
brought  from  her  town  a  sister  of  hers,  and  when 
she  arrived,  between  the  wife  and  the  son  she  was 
forced  upon  the  old  man,  who  concluded  by  taking 
up  with  his  sister-in-law.  Since  that  time  the  four 
•  had  lived  in  unbroken  harmony.  They  understood 
one  another  most  admirably. 

(Manuel  was  not  in  the  least  astonished  by  this 
state  of  affairs;  he  was  cured  of  fear,  for  at  La  Cor- 
rala  there  was  more  than  one  matrimonial  combina- 
tion of  the  sort.  What  did  make  him  indignant  was 
the  stinginess  of  Uncle  Patas  and  his  people. 

All  the  scrupulousness  which  Uncle  Patas'  wife 
did  not  feel  in  other  matters  she  reserved,  no  doubt, 
for  the  accounts.  Herself  accustomed  to  pilfer,  she 
knew  to  the  least  detail  every  trick  of  the  servants, 
and  not  a  centime  escaped  her;  she  always  thought 
she  was  being  robbed.  Such  was  her  spirit  of 
economy  that  at  home  they  ate  stale  bread,  thus 
confirming  the  popular  saying,  "in  the  house  of  the 
smith,  a  wooden  knife." 

The  sister-in-law,  an  uncouth  peasant  with  a 
stubby  nose,  carroty  cheeks,  abundant  breasts  and 
hips,  could  give  lessons  in  avarice  to  her  sister, 
while  in  the  matter  of  immodesty  and  undignified 
comportment  she  outdistanced  her.  She  would  go 
about  the  store  with  her  bosom  exposed  and  there 
wasn't  a  delivery-man  who  missed  a  chance  to  pinch 
her. 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA 

"What  a  fatty  you  are!  Oh!"  they  would  all 
exclaim. 

And  it  was  as  if  all  this  frequently  fingered  fat  x 
didn't  belong  to   her,   for  she   raised  no   protest. 
Should  any  one,  however,  try  to  get  the  best  of  her 
on  the  price  of  a  roll,  she  would  turn  into  a  wild 
beast. 

On  Sunday  afternoons  Uncle  Patas,  his  wife  and 
his  sister-in-law  were  in  the  habit  of  playing  mus  on 
a  little  table  in  the  middle  of  the  road;  they  never 
dared  to  leave  the  store  alone. 

After  Manuel  had  been  here  for  three  months, 
Petra  came  to  see  Uncle  Patas  and  asked  him  to 
give  her  boy  a  regular  wage.  Uncle  Patas  burst 
into  laughter;  the  request  struck  him  as  the  very 
height  of  absurdity  and  he  answered  No,  that  it  was 
impossible,  that  the  boy  didn't  even  earn  the  bread 
he  ate. 

Then  Petra  sought  out  another  place  for  Manuel 
and  brought  him  to  a  bakery  on  Horno  de  la  Mata 
Street  where  he  was  to  learn  the  trade. 

As  the  beginning  of  his  apprenticeship  he  was 
assigned  to  the  furnace  as  assistant  to  the  man  who 
removed  the  loaves  from  the  oven.  The  work  was 
beyond  his  strength.  He  had  to  get  up  at  eleven  in 
the  night  and  commence  by  scraping  the  iron  pans  in 
which  the  smaller  loaves  were  baked;  after  they 
were  cleaned  he  would  go  over  them  with  a  brush 
dipped  in  melted  butter;  this  accomplished  he  would 
help  his  superior  remove  the  live  coals  from  the 
oven  with  an  iron  instrument;  then,  while  the  baker 
baked  the  bread  he  would  lift  very  heavy  boards 


176  THE   QUEST 

laden  with  rolls  and  carry  them  to  the  kneeding- 
trough  at  the  mouth  of  the  furnace;  when  the  baker 
placed  the  rolls  inside  Manuel  would  take  the  board 
back  to  the  kneading-trough.  As  the  bread  came 
out  of  the  oven  he  would  moisten  it  with  a  brush 
dipped  in  water  so  as  to  make  the  crust  shiny.  At 
eleven  in  the  morning  the  work  was  over,  and  dur- 
ing the  intervals  of  idleness  Manuel  and  the  work- 
men would  sleep. 

This  life  was  horribly  hard. 

The  bakery  occupied  a  dark  cellar,  as  gloomy  as 
it  was  dirty.  It  was  below  the  level  of  the  street 
and  had  two  windows  the  panes  of  which  were  so 
covered  with  dust  and  spiders'  webs  that  only  a 
murky,  yellowish  light  filtered  through.  They 
worked  at  all  hours  by  gas. 

The  bakery  was  entered  by  a  door  that  opened 
upon  an  ample  patio,  in  which  was  a  shed  of  pierced 
zinc;  this  protected  from  the  rain,  or  tried  to  pro- 
tect, at  least,  the  loads  of  furze  branch  and  the  piles 
of  wood  that  were  heaped  up  there. 

From  this  patio  a  low  door  gave  access  to  a  long, 
but  narrcwv  and  damp,  corridor  that  was  everywhere 
black;  only  at  the  extreme  end  there  was  a  square 
of  light  that  entered  through  a  high  window  with  a 
few  cracked,  filthy  panes, — a  gloomy  illumination. 

When  the  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  surround- 
ing gloom  they  could  make  out  on  the  wall  some 
delivery-baskets,  bakers'  peels,  smocks,  caps  and 
shoes  hanging  from  nails,  and  on  the  ceiling  thick, 
silvery  cobwebs  covered  with  dust. 

Half  way  along  the  corridor  were  a  couple  of 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     177 

doors  opposite  each  other;  one  led  to  the  furnace, 
the  other  to  the  kneading  room. 

The  furnace  room  was  spacious,  and  the  walls 
filmed  with  soot,  so  that  the  place  was  as  black  as 
a  camera  obscura;  a  gas-jet  burned  in  that  cavern, 
illuminating  almost  nothing.  Before  the  mouth  of 
the  furnace,  against  an  iron  shed,  were  placed  the 
shovels;  above,  on  the  ceiling,  could  be  made  out 
some  large  pipes  that  crossed  each  other. 

The  kneading  room,  less  dark  than  the  furnace 
room,  was  even  more  somber.  A  pallid  light  shone 
in  through  the  two  windows  that  looked  into  the 
patio,  their  panes  encrusted  with  flour  dust.  There 
were  always  some  ten  or  twelve  men  in  shirt-sleeves, 
brandishing  their  arms  desperately  over  the 
troughs,  and  in  the  back  of  the  room  a  she-mule 
slowly  turned  the  kneading  machine. 

Life  in  the  bakery  was  disagreeable  and  hard; 
the  work  was  enervating  and  the  pay  small:  seven 
reales  per  day.  Manuel,  unaccustomed  to  the  heat 
of  the  furnace,  turned  dizzy;  besides,  when  he  mois- 
tened the  loaves  fresh  from  the  oven  he  would  burn 
his  fingers  and  it  disgusted  him  to  see  his  hands  be- 
grimed with  grease  and  soot. 

He  was  also  unlucky  enough  to  have  his  bed 
placed  in  the  kneaders'  room,  beside  that  of  an  old 
workman  of  the  shop  who  suffered  from  chronic 
catarrh,  as  a  result  of  having  breathed  so  much  flour 
into  his  lungs ;  this  fellow  kept  hawking  away  at  all 
hours. 

From  sheer  disgust  Manuel  found  it  impossible  to 
sleep  here,  so  he  went  to  the  furnace  kitchen  and 


178  THEQUEST 

threw  himself  down  upon  the  floor.  He  was  for- 
ever weary;  but  despite  this,  he  worked  automat- 
ically. 

Then  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  him;  the  other 
bakers,  a  gang  of  pretty  rough  Galicians,  treated 
him  as  if  he  were  a  mule;  none  of  them  even  took 
the  trouble  to  learn  his  name,  and  some  addressed 
him,  "Hey,  you,  Choto!"  while  others  cried  "Hello, 
Barriga!"  When  they  spoke  of  him  they  referred 
to  him  as  "the  ragamuffin  from  Madrid"  or  simply, 
"ragamuffin."  He  answered  to  whatever  names 
and  sobriquets  they  gave  him. 

At  first  the  most  hateful  of  all  these  men,  to 
Manuel,  was  the  head  baker,  who  ordered  him  about 
in  a  despotic  manner  and  grew  angry  if  things 
weren't  done  in  a  trice.  This  baker  was  a  German 
named  Karl  Schneider  who  had  come  to  Spain  as  a 
vagrant,  in  evasion  of  military  service.  He  was 
about  twenty-four  or  twenty-five,  with  limpid  eyes, 
and  hair  and  moustache  that  were  so  fair  as  almost 
to  be  white. 

A  timid,  phlegmatic  fellow,  he  was  frightened  by 
everything  and  found  all  things  difficult.  His  strong 
impressions  were  manifested  neither  in  his  motions 
nor  his  words,  but  in  a  sudden  flush,  which  coloured 
his  cheeks  and  his  forehead,  and  which  would  soon 
disappear  and  leave  an  intense  pallor. 

Karl  expressed  himself  very  well  in  Spanish,  but  in 
a  rare  manner;  he  knew  a  string  of  proverbs  and 
phrases  which  he  entangled  inextricably;  this  lent 
a  quaint  character  to  his  conversation. 

Manuel  soon  discovered  that  the  German,  despite 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     179 

his  abruptness,   was  a  fine   fellow,  very  innocent, 
very  sentimental  and  of  paradisiacal  simplicity. 

After  a  month's  work  in  the  bakery  Manuel  had 
come  to  consider  Karl  as  his  only  friend;  they  treated 
each  other  as  boon  companions  and  addressed  each 
other  in  familiar  terms ;  and  if  the  baker  often  helped 
his  assistant  in  any  task  that  required  strength,  he 
would  in  his  turn,  on  occasion,  ask  the  boy's  opinion 
and  consult  him  regarding  sentimental  complications 
and  punctilios,  which  fascinated  the  German  and 
which  Manuel  settled  with  his  natural  perspicacity 
and  the  instincts  of  a  wandering  child  who  has 
been  convinced  that  all  life's  motives  are  egotistical  X- 
and  base.  This  equality  between  master  and  ap- 
prentice disappeared  the  moment  Karl  took  up  his 
position  at  the  mouth  of  the  furnace.  At  such 
times  Manuel  had  to  obey  the  German  without  cavil 
or  delay. 

Karl's  one  vice  was  drunkenness;  he  was  forever 
thirsty;  whenever  he  slaked  this  thirst  with  wine  and 
beer  everything  went  well;  he  led  a  methodical  life 
and  would  spend  his  free  hours  on  the  Plaza  de 
Oriente  or  in  the  Moncloa,  reading  the  two  volumes 
that  comprised  his  library:  one,  Lost  Illusions,  by 
Balzac  and  the  other,  a  collection  of  German  poems. 

These  two  books,  constantly  read,  commented 
upon  and  annotated  by  him,  filled  his  head  with 
fancies  and  dreams.  Between  the  bitter,  despair- 
ing, yet  fundamentally  romantic  ratiocinations  of 
Balzac,  and  the  idealities  of  Goethe  and  Heine,  the 
poor  baker  dwelt  in  the  most  unreal  of  worlds.  V- 
Often  Karl  would  explain  to  Manuel  the  conflicts 


180  THE   QUEST 

between  the  persons  of  his  favourite  novel,  and 
would  ask  how  he  would  act  under  similar  circum- 
stances. Manuel  would  usually  hit  upon  so  logical, 
so  natural,  so  4ittl«^f  omantic  a  solution  that  the 
German  would  stand  perplexed  and  fascinated  be- 
fore the  boy's  clearness  of  judgment ;  but  soon,  con- 
sidering the  selfsame  theme  anew,  he  would  see 
that  such  a  solution  would  prove  valueless  to  his 
1  sublimated  personages,  for  the  very  conflict  of  the 
novel  would  never  have  come  about  amidst  folk  of 
common  thoughts. 

There  came  stretches  of  ten  or  twelve  days  when 
the  German  needed  more  powerful  stimulants  than 
wine  and  literature,  and  he  would  get  drunk  on 
whisky,  drinking  down  half  a  flask  as  if  it  were  so 
much  water. 

According  to  what  he  told  Manuel,  he  was  over- 
whelmed by  an  avalanche  of  sadness;  everything 
looked  black  and  repulsive  to  his  eyes,  he  felt  fever- 
ish and  the  one  remedy  for  this  melancholy  was 
alcohol. 

When  he  entered  the  tavern  his  heart  was  heavy 
and  his  head  dull  with  a  surfeit  of  ugly  notions,  but 
as  he  drank  he  felt  his  heart  grow  lighter  and  his 
breath  come  easier,  while  his  head  began  to  dance 
with  merry  thoughts.  When  he  left  the  tavern, 
however  hard  he  tried,  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  preserve  his  dignity;  laughter  would  flicker  upon 
his  lips.  Then  songs  of  his  native  land  would 
throng  to  his  memory  and  he  would  sing  them 
aloud,  beating  time  to  them  as  he  walked  on.  As 
long  as  he  went  through  the  central  thoroughfares 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     181 

he  would  walk  straight;  no  sooner  did  he  reach  the 
back  streets,  the  deserted  avenues,  than  he  would 
abandon  himself  to  the  pleasure  of  stumbling  along 
and  staggering,  with  a  bump  here  and  a  thump 
there.  During  these  moods  everything  seemed 
great  and  beautiful  and  superb  to  the  German;  the 
sentimentalism  of  his  race  would  overflow  and  he 
would  begin  to  recite  verses  and  weep,  and  of  what- 
ever acquaintances  he  met  on  the  street  he  would 
beg  forgiveness  for  his  imaginary  offence,  asking 
anxiously  whether  he  still  continued  to  enjoy  their 
estimation  and  offering  his  friendship. 

However  drunk  he  might  be,  he  never  forgot  his 
duty  and  when  the  hour  for  starting  the  night's 
baking  arrived  he  would  stagger  off  to  the  bakery; 
the  moment  he  took  up  his  position  before  the 
mouth  of  the  furnace  his  intoxication  evaporated 
and  he  set  to  work  as  soberly  as  ever,  himself  laugh- 
ing at  his  extravagances. 

The  German  possessed  remarkable  organic  powers 
and  unheard-of  resistance ;  Manuel  had  to  sleep  dur- 
ing all  his  free  time,  and  even  at  that  never  rose  from 
his  bed  completely  rested.  'For  the  two  months  that 
he  spent  in  the  bakery  Manuel  lived  like  an  autom- 
aton. Work  at  the  furnace  had  so  shifted  about 
his  hours  of  sleep  that  the  days  seemed  to  him  nights 
and  the  nights,  days. 

One  day  Manuel  fell  ill  and  all  the  strength  that 
had  been  sustaining  him  abandoned  him  suddenly; 
he  gave  up  his  job,  took  his  two-week's  pay  and  with- 
out knowing  how,  fairly  dragging  himself  thither, 
made  his  way  to  the  lodging-house. 


182  THEQUEST 

Petra,  finding  him  in  this  condition,  made  him  go 
to  bed,  and  Manuel  lay  for  nearly  two  weeks  in  the 
delirium  of  a  very  high  fever.  On  getting  out  it 
seemed  that  he  had  grown;  he  was  much  emaciated, 
and  felt  in  his  whole  body  a  great  lassitude  and 
languor  and  such  a  keen  sensitivity  that  any  word  the 
least  mite  too  harsh  would  affect  him  to  the  point  of 
tears. 

When  he  was  able  to  go  out  into  the  street  again, 
he  bought,  at  Petra's  suggestion,  a  gold-plated 
brooch  which  he  presented  to  Dona  Casiana;  she 
was  so  pleased  with  the  gift  that  she  told  her 
servant  the  boy  might  remain  in  the  house  until  he 
was  completely  recovered. 

Those  days  were  among  the  most  pleasant  that 
Manuel  ever  spent  in  his  whole  life;  the  one  thing 
that  bothered  him  was  hunger. 

The  weather  was  superb  and  in  the  mornings 
Manuel  would  go  strolling  along  the  Retiro.  The 
journalist  whom  they  called  Superman  employed 
Manuel  in  copying  his  notes  and  articles,  and  as  com- 
pensation, no  doubt,  let  him  take  novels  by  Paul  de 
Kock  and  Pigault-Lebrun,  some  of  them  highly 
spiced,  as  for  example  Nuns  and  Corsairs  and  That 
Rascal  Gustave. 

The  love  theories  of  these  two  writers  convinced 
Manuel  so  well  that  he  tried  to  put  them  into  prac- 
tise with  the  landlady's  niece.  During  the  previous 
two  years  she  had  developed  so  fully  that  she  was 
already  a  woman. 

One  night,  during  the  early  hour  after  supper, 
either  through  the  influence  of  the  spring  season  or 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA      183 

in  obedience  to  the  theories  of  the  author  of  Nuns 
and  Corsiars,  Manuel  persuaded  the  landlady's  girl 
of  the  advantages  of  a  very  private  consultation,  and 
a  neighbour  saw  the  two  of  them  depart  together  up- 
stairs and  enter  the  garret. 

As  they  were  about  to  shut  themselves  in,  the 
neighbour  surprised  them  and  brought  them,  deeply 
contrite,  into  the  presence  of  Dona  Casiana.  The 
thrashing  that  the  landlady  administered  to  her 
niece  deprived  the  girl  of  all  desire  for  new  ad- 
ventures and  the  aunt  of  any  strength  to  administer 
another  to  Manuel. 

"Out  into  the  street  with  you !"  she  bawled  at  him, 
seizing  him  by  the  arm  and  sinking  her  nails  into  his 
flesh.  "And  make  sure  that  I  never  see  you  here 
again,  for  I'll  brain  you!" 

Manuel,  stricken  with  shame  and  confusion, 
wished  nothing  better  at  that  moment  than  a  chance 
to  escape,  and  he  dashed  into  the  street  as  fast 
as  he  could  get  there,  like  a  beaten  cur.  The  night 
was  cool  and  inviting.  As  he  didn't  have  a  centime, 
he  soon  wearied  of  sauntering  about;  he  called  at 
the  bakery,  asked  for  Karl  the  baker,  they  opened 
the  place  to  him  and  he  stretched  himself  out  on  one 
of  the  beds.  At  dawn  he  was  awakened  by  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  bakers,  who  was  shouting: 

"Hey,  you!     Loafer!      Clear  out  I" 

Manuel  got  up  and  went  out  into  the  street.  He 
strolled  along  toward  the  Viaduct,  to  his  favourite 
spot,  to  survey  the  landscape  and  Segovia  street. 

It  was  a  glorious  spring  morning.  In  the  grove 
near  the  Campo  del  Moro  some  soldiers  were  drilling 


184  THEQUEST 

to  the  sound  of  bugle  and  drums;  from  a  stone 
chimney  on  the  Ronda  de  Segovia  puffs  of  dark 
smoke  issued  forth  to  stain  the  clear,  diaphanous 
sky;  in  the  laundries  on  the  banks  of  the  Manzanares 
the  clothes  hung  out  to  dry  shone  with  a  white  re- 
fulgence. 

Manuel  slowly  crossed  the  Viaduct,  reached  Las 
Vistillas  and  watched  some  rag-dealers  sorting  out 
their  materials  after  emptying  the  contents  of  their 
sacks  upon  the  ground.  He  sat  down  for  a  while 
in  the  sun.  With  his  eyes  narrowed  to  a  slit  he 
could  make  out  the  arches  of  the  Almudena  church 
just  above  a  wall;  beyond  rose  the  Royal  Palace,  a 
glittering  white,  the  sandy  clearings  of  the  Principe 
Pio  with  its  long  red  barracks,  and  the  row  of  houses 
on  the  Paseo  de  Resales,  their  panes  aglow  with  the 
sunlight. 

Toward  the  Casa  de  Campo  several  brown,  bare 
knolls  stood  out,  topped  by  two  or  three  pines  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  cut  out  and  pasted  upon 
the  blue  atmosphere. 

From  Las  Vistillas  Manuel  walked  down  to  the 
Ronda  de  Segovia.  As  he  sauntered  along  Aguila 
Street  he  noticed  that  Senor  Ignacio's  place  was  still 
closed.  Manuel  went  into  the  house  and  asked  in 
the  patio  for  Salome. 

"She  must  be  at  work  in  the  house,"  they  told 
him. 

He  climbed  up  the  stairway  and  knocked  at  the 
door;  from  within  came  the  hum  of  a  sewing-ma- 
chine. 

Salome  opened  the  door  and  Manuel  entered. 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     185 

The  seamstress  was  as  pretty  as  ever,  and,  as  ever, 
working.  Her  two  boys  had  not  yet  entered  colegio. 
Salome  told  Manuel  that  Senor  Ignacio  had  been  in 
hospital  and  that  he  was  now  looking  around  for 
some  money  with  which  to  pay  off  his  debts  and 
continue  his  business.  Leandra  at  that  moment 
was  down  by  the  river,  Senor  Jacoba  at  her  post, 
and  Vidal  loafing  around  with  no  desire  to  work. 
He  simply  couldn't  be  kept  away  from  the  company 
of  a  certain  cross-eyed  wretch  who  was  worse  than 
disease  itself,  and  had  become  a  tramp.  The  two 
of  them  were  always  seen  with  bad  women  in  the 
stands  and  lunch-rooms  of  the  Andalucia  road. 

Manuel  told  her  of  his  experiences  as  a  baker  and 
how  he  had  fallen  ill;  what  he  did  not  relate  how- 
ever, was  the  tale  of  his  dismissal  from  the  house 
where  his  mother  was  employed. 

"That's  no  kind  of  job  for  you.  You  ought  to 
learn  some  trade  that  requires  less  strength,"  was 
Salome's  advice. 

Manuel  spent  the  whole  morning  chatting  with 
the  seamstress;  she  invited  him  to  a  bite  and  he  ac- 
cepted with  pleasure. 

In  the  afternoon  Manuel  left  Salome's  house  with 
the  thought  that  if  he  were  a  few  years  older  and 
had  a  decent,  paying  position,  he  would  marry  her, 
even  if  he  found  himself  compelled  to  get  the  tough 
who  went  with  her  out  of  the  way  with  a  knife. 

Once  again  upon  the  Ronda,  the  first  thought  that 
came  to  Manuel  was  that  he  ought  not  to  go  to  the 
Toledo  Bridge,  nor  be  in  any  greater  hurry  to  reach 
the  Andalucia  road,  for  it  was  very  easy  to  happen 


i86  THEQUEST 

upon  Vidal  or  Bizco  there.  He  pondered  the 
thought  deeply,  and  yet,  despite  this,  he  took  the 
direction  of  the  bridge,  glanced  into  the  sands,  and 
failing  to  find  his  friends  there  continued  along  the 
Canal,  crossed  the  Manzanares  by  one  of  the  laundry 
bridges  and  came  out  on  Andalucia  road.  In  a 
lunch-room  that  sheltered  a  few  tables  beneath  its 
roof  were  Vidal  and  Bizco  in  company  of  a  group 
of  idlers  playing  cane. 

"Hey,  you,  Vidal !"  shouted  Manuel. 

"The  deuce!     Is  it  you?"  exclaimed  his  cousin. 

"As  you  see.  .  .  ." 

"And  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Nothing.     And  you?" 

"Whatever  comes  our  way." 

Manuel  watched  them  play  cane.  After  they  had 
finished  a  hand,  Vidal  said: 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  walk?" 

"Come  on." 

"Are  you  coming,  Bizco?" 

"Yes." 

The  three  set  out  along  the  Andalucia  road. 

Vidal  and  Bizco  led  a  thieves'  existence,  stealing 
here  a  horse  blanket,  there  the  electric  bulbs  of  a 
staircase  or  telephone  wires;  whatever  turned  up. 
They  did  not  venture  to  operate  in  the  heart  of 
Madrid  as  they  were  not  yet,  in  their  opinion,  suf- 
ficiently expert. 

Only  a  few  days  before,  told  Vidal,  they  had, 
between  them,  robbed  a  fellow  of  a  she-goat,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Manzanares  near  the  Toledo 
bridge.  Vidal  had  entertained  the  chap  at  the  game 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     187 

of  tossing  coins  while  Bizco  had  seized  the  goat 
and  pulled  her  up  the  slope  of  the  pines  to  Las 
Yeserias,  afterward  taking  her  to  Las  Injurias.  Then 
Vidal,  indicating  the  opposite  direction  to  their  dupe, 
had  shouted:  "Run,  run,  there  goes  your  goat." 
And  as  the  youth  trotted  off  in  the  direction  in- 
dicated, Vidal  escaped  to  Las  Injurias,  joining  Bizco 
and  his  sweetheart.  They  were  still  dining  on  the 
goat's  meat. 

"That's  what  you  ought  to  do,"  suggested  Vidal. 
"Come  with  us.  This  is  the  life  of  a  lord!  Why, 
listen  here.  The  other  day  Juan  el  Burra  and  El 
Arenero  came  upon  a  dead  hog  on  the  road  to  Las 
Yeserias.  A  swineherd  was  on  his  way  with  a 
herd  of  them  to  the  slaughter-house,  when  they 
found  out  that  the  animal  had  died;  the  fellow  left 
it  there,  and  Juan  el  Burra  and  El  Arenero  dragged 
it  to  their  house,  quartered  it,  and  we  friends  of 
his  have  been  eating  hog  for  more  than  a  week.  I 
tell  you,  it's  a  lord's  life  I" 

According  to  what  Vidal  said,  all  the  thieves 
knew  each  other,  even  to  the  most  distant  sections 
of  the  city.  Their  life  was  outside  the  pale  of  so- 
ciety and  an  admirable  one,  indeed;  today  they  were 
to  meet  at  the  Four  Roads,  in  three  or  four  days 
at  the  Vallecas  Bridge  or  at  La  Guindelara;  they 
helped  each  other. 

Their  radius  of  activities  was  a  zone  bounded  by 
the  extreme  of  the  Casa  del  Campo,  where  the  inn 
of  Agapito  and  the  Alcorcon  restaurants  were,  as  far 
as, Los  Carabancheles;  from  here,  the  banks  of  the 
Abronigal,  La  Elipa,  El  Este,  Las  Ventas  and  La 


i88  THEQUEST 

Conception  as  far  as  La  Prosperidad ;  then  Tetuan 
as  far  as  the  Puerta  de  Hierro.  In  summer  they 
slept  in  yards  and  sheds  of  the  suburbs. 

The  thieves  of  the  city's  centre  were  a  better- 
dressed,  more  aristocratic  lot;  each  of  these  had  his 
woman,  whose  earnings  he  managed  and  who  took 
good  care  of  him.  The  outcasts  of  the  heart  of  the 
city  were  a  distinct  class  with  other  gradations. 

There  were  times  when  Bizco  and  Vidal  had  gone 
through  intense  want,  existing  upon  cats  and  rats 
and  seeking  shelter  in  the  caves  upon  San  Bias  hill, 
of  Madrid  Moderno,  and  in  the  Eastern  Cemetery. 
But  by  this  time  the  pair  knew  their  business. 
i  "And  work?  Nothing?"  asked  Manuel. 

"Work!  .  .  .  Let  the  cat  work,"  scoffed  Vidal. 

They  didn't  work,  stuttered  Bizco;  who  was  going 
to  get  fresh  with  him  while  he  had  his  trusty  steel 
in  his  hand? 

Into  the  brain  of  this  wild  beast  there  had  not 
penetrated,  even  vaguely,  any  idea  of  rights  or 
duties.  No  duties,  no  rights  or  anything  at  all. 
X  X  To  him,  might  was  right;  the  world  was  a  hunting 
wood.  Only  humble  wretches  could  obey  the  law 
of  labour.  That's  what  he  said:  Let  fools  work, 
if  they  hadn't  the  nerve  to  live  like  men. 

As  the  three  thus  conversed  a  man  and  a  woman 
with  a  child  in  her  arms  passed  by.  They  looked 
dejected,  like  famished,  persecuted  folk,  their  glance 
timid  and  awed. 

"There's  the  workers  for  you,"  exclaimed  Vidal. 
"That's  how  they  are." 

"The  devil  take  them,"  muttered  Bizco. 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     189 

"Where  are  they  bound  for?"  asked  Manuel,  eye- 
ing them  sympathetically. 

"To  the  tile-works,"  answered  Vidal.  "To  sell 
saffron,  as  we  say  around  here." 

"And  why  do  they  say  that?" 

"Because  saffron  is  so  dear.  .  .  ." 

The  three  came  to  a  halt  and  lay  down  upon  the 
sod.  For  more  than  an  hour  they  remained  there, 
discussing  women  and  ways  and  means  of  procuring 
money. 

"Got  any  money  about  you?"  asked  Vidal  of 
Manuel  and  Bizco. 

"Two  reales,"  replied  the  latter. 

"Well,  then,  invite  us  to  something,"  suggested 
Vidal.  "Let's  have  a  bottle." 

Bizco  assented,  grumblingly,  so  they  arose  and 
took  their  way  toward  Madrid.  A  procession  of 
whitish  mules  filed  past  them;  a  young,  swarthy 
gipsy,  with  a  long  stick  under  his  arm,  mounted 
upon  the  last  mule  of  the  procession,  kept  shouting 
at  every  step:  "Corone,  corone!" 

"So  long,  swell!"  shouted  Vidal  to  him. 

"God  be  with  all  good  folk,"  answered  the  gipsy 
in  a  hoarse  voice.  They  reached  a  road  tavern  be- 
side a  ragpicker's  hut,  stopped,  and  Vidal  ordered 
the  bottle  of  wine. 

"What's  this  factory?"  asked  Manuel,  pointing 
to  a  structure  at  the  left  of  the  Andalucia  road  on 
the  way  back  to  Madrid. 

"They  make  money  out  of  blood,"  answered 
Vidal  solemnly. 

Manuel  stared  at  him  in  fright. 


190  THEQUEST 

"Yes.  They  make  glue  out  of  the  blood  that's 
left  over  in  the  slaughter-house,"  added  his  cousin, 
laughing. 

Vidal  poured  the  wine  into  the  glasses  and  the 
three  gulped  it  down. 

Yonder,  above  the  avenue  of  trees  on  the  Canal, 
could  be  made  out  Madrid,  with  its  long,  level 
cluster  of  houses.  The  windows,  lit  up  by  the  flush 
of  the  setting  sun,  glowed  like  live  coals;  in  the  fore- 
ground, just  below  San  Francisco  el  Grande,  bulked 
the  red  tanks  of  the  gas  factory  with  their  high 
steel  beams,  amidst  the  obscure  rubbish-heaps;  from 
the  centre  of  the  city  rose  tiny  towers  and  low 
chimneys  which  belched  forth  black  puffs  of  smoke 
that  seemed  to  rest  motionless  in  the  tranquil  atmos- 
phere. At  one  side,  upon  a  hill,  towered  the  Ob- 
servatory, whose  windows  sparkled  with  the  sun;  at 
the  other,  the  Guadarama  range,  blue  with  crests 
of  white,  was  outlined  against  the  clear,  transparent 
heavens  furrowed  by  red  clouds. 

"Bah,"  added  Vidal,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
turning  to  Manuel.  "You've  got  to  come  with  us; 
we'll  make  a  gang." 

"That's  the  talk,"  stammered  Bizco. 

"All  right.  I'll  see,"  responded  Manuel  unwill- 
ingly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you'll  see?  The  gang's 
already  formed.  We'll  call  it  the  gang  of  The 
Three." 

"Fine!"  shouted  Bizco. 

"And  we'll  help  each  other?"  inquired  Manuel. 


UNCLE   PATAS'    DRAMA     191 

"Of  course  we  will,"  assured  his  cousin.  "And 
if  any  one  of  us  should  prove  a  traitor.  .  .  ." 

"If  any  one  proves  a  traitor,"  interrupted  Bizco, 
"his  guts'll  be  ripped  out."  And  to  lend  force  to 
his  declaration  he  drew  out  his  dirk  and  plunged 
it  viciously  into  the  table. 

At  nightfall  the  three  returned  by  the  road  to  the 
Toledo  bridge  and  separated  at  that  point,  after  ar- 
ranging to  meet  on  the  morrow. 

Manuel  wondered  just  what  he  was  committed  to 
by  the  promise  made  to  be  a  member  of  The  Three. 
The  life  led  by  Bizco  and  Vidal  frightened  him. 
He  must  resolve  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf;  but  what 
was  he  to  do?  That  was  what  puzzled  him. 

For  some  time  Manuel  did  not  dare  to  put  in  an 
appearance  at  the  lodging-house;  he  would  meet  his 
mother  in  the  street  and  he  slept  in  the  entry  of  the 
house  where  one  of  his  sisters  was  employed.  Later 
it  came  to  pass  that  the  landlady's  niece  was  found 
in  the  bedroom  of  a  neighbouring  student,  and  this 
served  to  rehabilitate  Manuel  somewhat  in  the 
boarding-house, 


CHAPTER  II 

One  of  the  Many  Disagreeable  Ways  of  Dying  in  Madrid — 
The  Orphan — El  Cojo  and  His  Cave — Night  in  the 
Observatory. 

ONE  day  Manuel  was  not  a  little  surprised 
to  learn  that  his  mother  had  not  been  able 
to  get  up  and  that  she  was  ill.  For  some 
time  she  had  been  coughing  up  blood,  but  had  con- 
sidered this  of  no  importance. 

Manuel  presented  himself  humbly  at  the  house 
and  the  landlady,  instead  of  greeting  him  with  re- 
criminations, asked  him  in  to  see  his  mother.  The 
only  thing  Petra  complained  of  was  a  terrible  bruised 
feeling  all  over  the  body  and  a  pain  in  her  back. 

For  days  and  days  she  had  gone  on  thus,  now 
better,  now  worse,  until  she  began  to  run  a  high 
fever  and  was  compelled  to  call  in  the  doctor.  The 
landlady  said  that  they'd  have  to  take  the  sick 
woman  to  the  hospital;  but  as  she  was  a  kind- 
hearted  soul  she  did  not  insist. 

Petra  had  already  confessed  several  times  to  the 
priest  of  the  house.  Manuel's  sisters  came  from  time 
to  time,  but  neither  brought  the  money  necessary 
to  the  purchase  of  the  medicines  and  the  food 
that  were  prescribed  by  the  doctor. 

One  Sunday,  toward  night,  Petra  took  a  turn  for 
the  worse;  during  the  afternoon  she  had  been  con- 

192 


ONE   OF   THE   MANY   WAYS    193 

versing  spiritedly  with  her  daughters;  but  this  ani- 
mation had  subsided  until  she  was  overwhelmed  by 
a  mortal  collapse. 

That  Sunday  night  Dona  Casiana's  lodgers  had  an 
unusually  succulent  supper,  and  after  the  supper 
several  ronquillas  for  dessert,  watered  by  the  purest 
concoction  of  the  Prussian  distilleries. 

The  spree  was  still  in  progress  at  ten  o'clock. 
Petra  said  to  Manuel : 

"Call  Don  Jacinto  and  tell  him  that  I'm  worse." 

Manuel  went  to  the  dining-room.  He  could 
barely  make  out  the  congested  faces  through  the 
thick  tobacco  smoke  that  filled  the  atmosphere.  As 
Manuel  entered,  one  of  the  merrymakers  said: 

"A  little  less  noise;  there's  somebody  sick." 

Manuel  delivered  the  message  to  the  priest. 

"Your  mother's  scared,  that's  all.  I'll  come  a 
little  later,"  replied  Don  Jacinto. 

Manuel  returned  to  the  room. 

"Isn't  he  coming?"  asked  the  sick  woman. 

"He'll  be  here  right  away.  He  says  you're  only 
scared." 

"Yes.  A  fine  scare,"  she  murmured  sadly. 
"Stay  here." 

Manuel  sat  down  upon  a  trunk;  he  was  so  sleepy, 
he  could  hardly  see. 

He  was  just  dozing  off  when  his  mother  called 
to  him. 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "Go  into  the  room  and  fetch 
the  picture  of  the  Virgin  of  Sorrows." 

Manuel  took  down  the  picture, — a  cheap  cromo- 
graph, — and  brought  it  to  the  bedroom. 


194  THEQUEST 

"Place  it  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  so  that  I  can 
see  it." 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  requested  and  returned 
to  his  seat.  From  the  dining-room  came  a  din  of 
songs,  hand-clapping  and  castanets. 

Suddenly  Manuel,  who  was  half  asleep,  heard  a 
loud,  rasping  sound  issue  from  his  mother's  chest, 
and  at  the  same  time  he  noticed  that  her  face  had 
become  paler  than  ever  and  was  twitching  strangely. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

The  sufferer  made  no  reply.  Then  Manuel  ran 
to  notify  the  priest  again.  Grumblingly  he  left 
the  dining-room,  looked  at  the  sick  woman  and  said 
to  the  boy: 

"Your  mother's  dying.  Stay  here,  and  I'll  be 
back  at  once  with  the  extreme  unction." 

The  priest  ordered  the  merrymakers  in  the  dining- 
room  to  cease  their  racket  and  the  whole  house  be- 
came silent. 

Nothing  could  be  heard  now  save  cautious  foot- 
falls, the  opening  and  closing  of  doors,  followed  by 
the  stertorous  breathing  of  the  dying  woman  and  the 
tick-tock  of  the  corridor  clock. 

The  priest  arrived  with  another  who  wore  a  stole 
and  administered  all  the  rites  of  the  extreme  unc- 
tion. After  the  vicar  and  the  sacristan  had  gone, 
Manuel  looked  at  his  mother  and  saw  her  livid 
features,  her  drooping  jaw.  She  was  dead. 

The  youngster  was  left  alone  in  the  room,  which 
was  dimly  lighted  by  the  oil  lamp;  there  he  sat  on 
the  trunk,  trembling  with  cold  and  fear. 


ONE   OF   THE   MANY   WAYS   195 

He  spent  the  whole  night  thus;  from  time  to 
time  the  landlady  would  enter  in  her  underclothes 
and  ask  Manuel  something  or  offer  some  bit  of  ad- 
vice which,  for  the  most  part,  he  did  not  under- 
stand. 

That  night  Manuel  thought  and  suffered  as  per- 
haps he  never  thought  and  suffered  at  any  other 
time;  he  meditated  upon  the  usefulness  of  life  and  X 
upon  death  with  a  perspicacity  that  he  had  never 
possessed.  However  hard  he  might  try,  he  could 
not  stem  the  flood  of  thoughts  that  merged  one  with 
the  other. 

At  four  in  the  morning  the  whole  house  was  in 
silence,  when  there  was  heard  the  rattle  of  a  latch- 
key in  the  stairway  door,  followed  by  footsteps  in 
the  corridor  and  then  the  querulous  tinkling  of  the 
music-box  upon  the  vestibule-table,  playing  the  Man- 
dolinata. 

Manuel  awoke  with  a  start,  as  from  a  dream; 
he  could  not  make  out  where  the  music  was  coming 
from;  he  even  imagined  that  he  had  lost  his  head. 
The  little  organ,  after  several  hitches  and  asthmatic 
sobs,  abandoned  the  Mandolinata  and  began  to  roll 
off  in  double  time  the  duet  between  Bettina  and 
Pippo  from  La  M  ascot  te: 


you  forget  me,  gentle  swain, 
Dressed  in  this  lordly  finery? 

Manuel  left  the  bedroom  and  asked,   through 
the  darkness: 
"Who  is  it?" 


196  THE   QUEST 

At  the  same  moment  voices  were  heard  from 
every  room.  The  music-box  cut  short  the  duet 
from  La  Mqscotte  and  launched  spiritedly  into  the 
strains  of  Garibaldi's  hymn.  Suddenly  the  music 
stopped  and  a  hoarse  voice  shouted : 

"Paco!     Paco!" 

The  landlady  got  up  and  asked  who  was  making 
all  that  racket;  one  of  the  men  who  had  just  entered 
the  house  explained  in  a  whisky-soaked  voice  that 
they  were  students  who  boarded  on  the  third  floor, 
and  had  just  come  from  the  ball  in  search  of  Paco, 
one  of  the  salesmen.  The  landlady  told  them  that 
some  one  had  died  in  the  house  and  one  of  the 
drunkards,  who  was  a  student  of  medicine,  said  he 
would  like  to  view  the  corpse.  He  was  persuaded 
to  change  his  mind  and  everybody  went  back  to  his 
place.  The  next  day  Manuel's  sisters  were  noti- 
fied and  Petra  was  buried.  .  .  . 

On  the  day  after  the  interment  Manuel  left  the 
boarding-house  and  said  farewell  to  Dona  Casiana. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.     I'll  see." 

"I  can't  keep  you  here,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
starve.  Come  here  from  time  to  time." 

After  walking  about  town  all  the  morning,  Manuel 
found  himself  at  noon  on  the  Ronda  de  Toledo, 
leaning  against  the  wall  of  Las  Americas,  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  to  do  with  himself.  To  one  side,  like- 
wise seated  upon  the  turf,  was  a  loathsome,  terribly 
ugly,  flat-nosed  gamin,  with  a  clouded  eye,  bare  feet, 
and  a  tattered  jacket  through  whose  rents  could  be 
glimpsed  his  dark  skin,  which  had  been  tanned  by  the 


ONE   OF   THE   MANY   WAYS   197 

sun  and  wind.  Hanging  from  his  neck  was  a  canis- 
ter into  which  he  threw  the  cigarette  ends  that  he 
gathered. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  Manuel  asked  him. 

"I  haven't  any  father  or  mother,"  answered  the 
urchin,  evasively. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"The  Orphan." 

"And  why  do  they  call  you  that?" 

"Why!     -Because  I'm  a  foundling." 

"And  didn't  you  ever  have  a  home?" 

"No." 

"And  where  do  you  sleep?" 

"Well,  in  the  summer  I  sleep  in  the  caves,  or  in 
yards,  and  in  winter,  in  the  asphalt  caldrons." 

"And  when  they're  not  doing  any  asphalting?" 

"In  some  shelter  or  other." 

"All  right,  then.     'But  what  do  you  eat?" 

"Whatever  I'm  given." 

"And  do  you  manage  to  do  well?" 

Either  the  foundling  did  not  understand  the  ques- 
tion or  it  appeared  quite  silly  to  him,  for  he  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Manuel  continued  his  curi- 
ous interrogatory. 

"Aren't  your  feet  cold?" 

"No." 

"And  don't  you  do  anything?" 

"Psch  I  ...  whatever  turns  up.  I  pick  up  stubs, 
I  sell  sand,  and  when  I  can't  earn  anything  I  go  to 
the  Maria  Cristina  barracks." 

"What  for?" 

"What  for?     For  a  meal,  of  course." 


198  THEQUEST 

"And  where's  this  barracks?" 

"Near  the  Atocha  station.  Why?  Would  you 
like  to  go  there,  too?" 

"Yes,  I  would." 

"Well,  let's  come  along  then,  or  we'll  miss  mess 
time." 

The  two  got  up  and  started  on  their  journey. 
The  Orphan  begged  at  the  stores  on  the  road  and 
was  given  two  slices  of  bread  and  a  small  coin. 

"Will  you  have  some,  ninchi?"  he  asked,  offering 
Manuel  one  of  the  slices. 

"Hand  it  over." 

By  the  Ronda  de  Atocha  they  reached  the  Esta- 
cion  de  Mediodia. 

"Do  you  know  the  time?"  asked  the  Orphan. 

"Yes.     It's  eleven." 

"Well  then,  it's  too  early  to  go  to  the  barracks." 

Opposite  the  station  a  lady,  from  the  seat  of  a 
coach,  was  making  a  speech  proclaiming  the  wonders 
of  a  salve  for  wounds  and  a  specific  for  curing  the 
toothache. 

The  Orphan,  biting  away  at  his  slice  of  bread, 
interrupted  the  speech  of  the  lady  in  the  coach, 
shouting  ironically: 

"Give  me  a  slice  to  take  away  my  toothache  I" 

"And  another  one  to  me!"  added  Manuel. 

The  husband  of  the  speechmaker,  an  old  fellow 
wearing  a  very  long  raglan  and  standing  amidst 
the  crowd  of  spectators  listening  with  the  greatest 
respect  to  what  his  better  half  was  saying,  grew  in- 
dignant and  speaking  but  half  Spanish,  cried: 

"If  I  cafch  you  your  teeth'll  ache  for  fair." 


ONE    OF   THE   MANY    WAYS   199 

"This  gentleman  came  from  Archipipi,"  inter- 
rupted the  Orphan. 

The  old  codger  tried  to  catch  one  of  the  urchins. 
Manuel  and  the  Orphan  ran  off,  dodging  the  man 
in  the  raglan  and  planting  themselves  opposite  him. 

"Impudent  rascals,"  shouted  the  gentleman.  "I'll 
give  you  a  hiding  and  maybe  your  teeth  won't  really 
ache  by  the  time  I'm  through  with  you." 

"But  they  hurt  already,"  chorused  the  ragamuffins. 

The  old  fellow,  exasperated  beyond  endurance, 
gave  frantic  chase  to  the  urchins;  a  group  of  idlers 
and  news-vendors  jostled  against  him  as  if  by  ac- 
cident, and  the  pursuer,  perspiring  freely  and  wip- 
ing his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  went  off  in  search 
of  an  officer. 

"Fakir,  froggie,  beggar  I"  shouted  the  Orphan  de- 
risively at  him. 

Then,  laughing  at  their  prank,  they  returned  to 
the  barracks  and  took  place  at  the  end  of  a  line  com- 
posed of  poverty-stricken  folk  and  tramps  who  were 
waiting  for  a  meal.  An  old  woman  who  had  already 
eaten  lent  them  a  tin  in  which  to  place  their  food. 

They  ate  and  then,  in  company  of  other  tattered 
youngsters  climbed  the  sandy  slopes  of  San  Bias 
hill  to  get  a  view  from  that  spot  of  the  soldiers  on 
Atocha  avenue. 

Manuel  stretched  out  lazily  in  the  sun,  filled  with 
the  joy  of  finding  himself  absolutely  free  of  worri-  X 
ment,  of  gazing  upon  the  azure  sky  which  extended 
into  the  infinite.     Such  blissful  comfort  induced  in 
him  a  deep  sleep. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  already  mid-afternoon  and 


200  THEQUEST 

the  wind  was  chasing  dark  clouds  across  the  heavens. 
Manuel  sat  up;  there  was  a  knot  of  gamins  close 
by,  but  the  Orphan  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

A  dense  black  cloud  came  up  and  blotted  out  the 
sun;  shortly  afterward  it  began  to  rain. 

"Shall  we  go  to  Cojo's  cave?"  asked  one  of  the 
boys. 

"Come  on." 

The  entire  band  of  ragamuffins  broke  into  a  run 
in  the  direction  of  the  Retire,  with  Manuel  hard 
after  them.  The  thick  raindrops  fell  in  slanting, 
steel-hued  lines;  a  stray  sunbeam  glittered  from 
the  sky  through  the  dark  violet  clouds  which  were 
so  long  that  they  looked  like  huge,  motionless  fishes. 

Ahead  of  the  ragamuffins,  at  an  appreciable  dis- 
tance, ran  two  women  and  two  men. 

"They're  Rubia  and  Chata  with  a  couple  of  hay- 
seeds," said  one  of  the  gamins. 

"They're  running  to  the  cave,"  added  another. 

The  boys  reached  the  top  of  the  hill;  before  the 
entrance  to  the  cave,  which  was  nothing  but  a  hole 
dug  out  of  the  sand,  sat  a  one-legged  man  smoking  a 
pipe. 

"We're  going  in,"  announced  one  of  the  urchins 
to  Co  jo. 

"You  can't,"  he  replied. 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  you  can't." 

"Man!     Let's  get  in  until  the  rain  stops." 

"Impossible." 

"Why?     Are  Rubia  and  Chata  inside?" 

"What  do  you  care  if  they  are?" 


ONE   OF   THE   MANY   WAYS   201 

"Shall  we  give  those  hayseeds  a  scare?"  asked 
one  of  the  ragamuffins,  whose  ears  were  covered  by 
long  black  locks. 

"Just  try  it  and  see,"  growled  Cojo,  seizing  a 
rock. 

"Come  on  to  the  Observatory,"  said  another. 
"We  won't  get  wet  there." 

The  gang  turned  back,  hurdled  a  wall  that  stood 
in  their  path  and  took  refuge  in  the  portico  of  the 
Observatory  on  the  Atocha  side.  The  wind  was 
blowing  from  the  Guadarrama  range  so  that  they 
were  in  the  lee. 

For  the  afternoon  and  part  of  the  evening  the 
rain  came  pouring  down;  they  passed  the  time 
chatting  about  women,  thefts  and  crimes.  Two  or 
three  of  these  youngsters  had  a  home  to  go  to,  but 
they  didn't  care  to  go.  One,  who  was  called  El 
Mariane,  related  a  number  of  notable  tricks  and 
swindles;  others,  who  displayed  prodigious  skill  and 
ingenuity,  roused  the  gathering  to  enthusiasm. 
After  this  theme  had  been  exhausted,  a  few  sug- 
gested a  game  of  cane,  and  the  idler  with  the  long 
black  locks,  whom  they  called  El  Canco,  sang  in  a 
low  feminine  voice  several  flamenco  songs. 

At  night,  as  it  grew  cold,  they  lay  down  quite 
close  to  each  other  upon  the  ground  and  continued 
their  conversations.  Manuel  was  repelled  by  the  X 
malevolent  spirit  of  the  gang;  one  of  them  told  a 
story  about  an  aged  fellow  of  eighty,  "old  Rain- 
bow," who  used  to  sleep  furtively  in  the  Manzanares 
laundry  in  a  hole  formed  by  four  mats;  one  night 
when  an  icy  cold  wind  was  blowing  they  opened  two 


202  THE   QUEST 

of  his  mats  and  the  next  day  he  was  found  frozen 
to  death;  El  Mariane  recounted  how  he  had  been 
with  a  cousin  of  his,  a  cavalry  sergeant,  in  a  public 
house  and  how  the  sergeant  mounted  upon  a  naked 
woman's  back  and  gashed  her  thighs  with  his  spurs. 

"The  fact  is,"  concluded  El  Mariane,  "there's 
V  nothing  like  making  women  suffer  if  you  want  to 
keep  'em  satisfied." 

Manuel  listened  in  astonishment  to  this  counsel; 
his  mind  reverted  to  that  seamstress  who  came  to 
the  landlady's  house,  and  then  to  Salome,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  would  not  care  to  have  made 
them  love  him  by  inflicting  pain.  He  fell  asleep 
with  these  notions  whirling  in  his  head. 

When  he  awoke  he  felt  the  cold  penetrating  to  his 
very  marrow.  Day  was  breaking  and  the  rain  had 
ceased;  the  sky,  still  dim,  was  strewn  with  greyish 
clouds.  Above  a  hedge  of  shrubs  shone  a  star  in 
the  middle  of  the  horizon's  pale  band,  and  against 
this  opaline  glow  stood  out  the  intertwined  branches 
of  the  trees,  which  were  still  without  leaves. 

The  whistles  of  the  locomotives  could  be  heard 
from  the  nearby  station;  toward  Carabanchel  the 
lantern  lights  were  paling  in  the  dark  fields,  which 
could  be  glimpsed  by  the  vague  luminosity  of  nas- 
cent day. 

Madrid,  level,  whitish,  bathed  in  mist,  rose  out 
of  the  night  with  its  many  roofs,  which  cut  the  sky 
in  a  straight  line;  its  turrets,  its  lofty  factory  chim- 
neys; and  amidst  the  silence  of  the  dawn,  the  city 
and  the  landscape  suggested  the  unreality  and  the 
motionlessness  of  a  painting. 


ONE   OF  THE   MANY   WAYS  203 

The  sky  became  clearer,  growing  gradually  blue. 
Now  the  new  white  houses  stood  out  more  sharply; 
the  high  partition-walls,  pierced  symmetrically  by 
tiny  windows;  the  roofs,  the  corners,  the  balus- 
trades, the  red  towers  of  recent  construction,  the 
army  of  chimneys,  all  enveloped  in  the  cold,  sad, 
damp,  atmosphere  of  morning,  beneath  a  low  zinc- 
hue  d  sky. 

Beyond  the  city  proper,  afar,  rolled  the  Madri- 
lenian  plain  in  gentle  undulations,  toward  the  mists 
of  dawn;  the  Manzanares  meandered  along,  as 
narrow  as  a  band  of  silver;  it  sought  the  Los  An- 
geles hill,  crossing  barren  fields  and  humble  dis- 
tricts, finally  to  curve  and  lose  itself  in  the  grey 
horizon.  Towering  above  Madrid  the  Guadarrama 
loomed  like  a  lofty  blue  rampart,  its  summits  capped 
with  snow. 

In  the  midst  of  this  silence  a  church  bell  began  its 
merry  pealing,  but  the  chimes  were  lost  in  the  som- 
nolent city. 

Manuel  felt  very  cold  and  commenced  pacing  back 
and  forth,  rubbing  his  shoulders  and  his  legs.  Ab- 
sorbed in  this  operation,  he  did  not  see  a  man  in  a 
boina,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  who  approached 
him  and  asked: 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

Without  replying,  Manuel  broke  into  a  run  down 
the  hill;  shortly  afterward  the  rest  of  the  gang  came 
scurrying  down,  awaked  by  the  kicks  of  the  man  in 
the  boina. 

As  they  reached  the  Velasco  Museum,  El  Mariane 
said: 


204  THEQUEST 

"Let's  see  if  we  can't  play  a  dirty  trick  on  that 
damned  Cojo." 

"Yes.     Come  on." 

By  a  side  path  they  climbed  back  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  been  on  the  previous  afternoon. 
From  the  cares  of  San  Bias  hill  came  a  few  raga- 
muffins crawling  out  on  all  fours ;  frightened  by  the 
sound  of  voices  and  thinking,  doubtless,  that  the 
police  had  come  to  make  a  raid,  they  set  off  on  a 
mad  run,  naked,  with  their  ragged  clothing  under 
their  arms. 

They  made  their  way  to  Cojo's  cave;  El  Mari- 
ane proposed  that  as  a  punishment  for  his  not  having 
let  them  go  in  the  day  before,  they  should  pile  a 
heap  of  grass  before  the  entrance  to  the  cave  and 
set  fire  to  the  place. 

"No,  man,  that's  monstrous,"  objected  El  Canco. 
"The  fellow  hires  out  his  cave  to  Rubia  and  Chata, 
who  hang  around  here  and  have  customers  in  the 
barracks.  He  has  to  respect  his  agreements  with 
them." 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  give  him  a  lesson,"  retorted 
El  Mariane.  "You'll  see."  Whereupon  he  crawled 
into  the  cave  and  reappeared  soon  with  El  Cojo's 
wooden  leg  in  one  hand  and  a  stewpot  in  the  other. 

"Cojo!     Cojo!"  he  shouted. 

At  these  cries  the  cripple  stuck  his  head  out  of  the 
entrance  to  the  cave,  dragging  himself  along  on  his 
hands,  bellowing  blasphemies  in  fury. 

"Cojo!  Cojo!"  yelled  El  Mariane  again,  as  if 
inciting  a  dog.  "There  goes  your  leg!  And  your 
dinner's  following  after!"  As  he  spoke,  he  seized 


ONE    OF   THE   MANY   WAYS  205 

the  wooden  leg  and  the  pot  and  sent  them  rolling 
down  the  slope. 

Then  they  all  broke  into  a  run  for  the  Ronda  de 
Vallecas.  Above  the  heights  and  valleys  of  the 
Pacifico  district  the  huge  red  disk  of  the  sun  rose 
from  the  earth  and  ascended  slowly  and  majestically 
behind  a  cluster  of  grimy  huts. 


CHAPTER  III 

Meeting  with  Roberto — Roberto  Narrates  the  Origin  of  a 
Fantastic  Fortune. 

MANUEL  was  compelled  to  return  to  the 
bakery  in  quest  of  work,  and  there,  thanks 
to  Karl's  intercession  with  the  proprietor, 
the  boy  spent  a  while  as  a  substitute  for  a  delivery- 
man. 

Manuel  understood  that  this  was  hardly  a  suitable 
thing  for  him  as  a  regular  position,  and  that  it  would 
get  him  nowhere;  but  he  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do, 
what  road  to  take. 

When  he  was  left  without  a  job,  he  managed  to 
exist  as  long  as  he  had  enough  to  pay  for  a  chop- 
house  meal.  There  came  a  day  when  he  was 
stranded  without  a  centime  and  he  resorted  to  the 
Maria  Cristina  barracks. 

For  two  or  three  days  he  had  been  taking  up  his 
position  among  the  beggars  of  the  breadline,  when 
once  he  caught  sight  of  Roberto  entering  the  bar- 
racks. He  did  not  go  over  to  him,  as  he  feared  to 
lose  his  place,  but  after  eating  he  waited  until 
Roberto  came  out. 

"Don  Roberto!"  hailed  Manuel. 

The  student  turned  deathly  pale;  at  light  of 
Manuel  he  regained  his  composure. 

206 


MEETING   WITH   ROBERTO  207 

"What  arc  you  doing  here?"  he  asked. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself.  I  come  here  to  eat. 
I  can't  find  work." 

"Ah  I     You  come  here  to  eat?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  I  come  for  the  same  reason,"  murmured 
Roberto,  laughing. 

"You?" 

"Yes.  I  have  been  cheated  out  of  my  rightful 
fortune." 

"And  what  are  you  doing  now?" 

"I'm  working  on  a  newspaper,  waiting  until  there's 
a  vacancy.  At  the  barracks  I  made  friends  with  a 
sculptor  who  comes  here  for  his  meals,  too,  and  we 
both  live  in  a  garret.  I  laugh  at  such  things,  for  I 
am  convinced  that  some  day  I'm  going  to  be  wealthy, 
and  when  I  am,  I'll  recall  these  hard  times  with 
pleasure." 

"He's  beginning  to  rave  already,"  thought 
Manuel. 

"Then  you  don't  believe  that  I'm  going  to  be  a 
rich  man  some  day?" 

"Certainly.     Of  course  I  do!" 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Roberto, 

"Nowhere  in  particular." 

"Let's  take  a  stroll." 

"Come  on." 

They  walked  down  to  Alfonso  XII  Street  and 
went  into  the  Retiro;  when  they  had  gone  as  far  as 
the  end  of  the  carriage  drive  they  sat  down  on  a 
bench. 


208  THEQUEST 

"We'll  drive  along  here  in  a  carriage  when  I 
become  a  millionaire,"  said  Roberto. 

"You  mean  you.  ...  As  for  me.  .  .  ."  replied 
Manuel. 

"You,  too.  Do  you  imagine  that  I'm  going  to  let 
you  stand  in  the  barrack's  bread  line  when  I  have  my 
millions?" 

"He's  truly  a  bit  off  his  base,"  thought  Manuel, 
"but  he  has  a  kind  heart."  Then  he  added.  "Have 
your  affairs  been  making  much  progress?" 

"No,  not  much.  The  question  is  still  pretty  well 
tangled.  But  it  will  be  straightened  out,  mark  my 
word." 

"Do  you  know  that  that  circus  chap  with  the 
phonograph  showed  up  one  day  with  a  woman  named 
Rosa?"  said  Manuel.  "I  went  hunting  for  you  to 
see  whether  she  was  the  one  you  were  talking  about." 

"No.     The  one  I  was  looking  for  is  dead." 

"Then  your  case  is   all  cleared  up?" 

"Yesf.  But  I  need  money.  Don  Telmo  was 
ready  to  lend  me  ten  thousand  duros  on  condition 
that  I'd  give  him  half  of  the  fortune  as  soon  as  I 
entered  into  possession  of  it,  if  I  won.  But  I  re- 
fused." 

"How  foolish." 

"What's  more,  he  wants  me  to  marry  his  niece." 

"And  you  didn't  want  to?" 

"No." 

"But  she's  pretty." 

"Yes.     But  she's  not  to  my  taste." 

"What?  Are  you  still  thinking  of  the  Baroness's 
daughter?" 


MEETING   WITH    ROBERTO  209 

"How  could  I  forget  her!     I've  seen  her.     She 
is  exquisite." 

"Yes.     She's  certainly  good-looking." 
"Only   good-looking!     Don't  blaspheme.     The 
moment  I  saw  her,  my  mind  was  made  up.     It's  sink 
or  swim  for  me." 

"You  run  the  risk  of  being  left  with  nothing." 
"I  know  that  I  don't  care.  All  or  nothing. 
The  Hastings  have  always  been  men  of  will  and 
resolution.  And  I'm  inspired  by  the  example  of  one 
of  my  relatives.  It's  an  invigorating  case  of  per- 
tinacity. You'll  see." 

"My  uncle,  the  brother  of  my  grandfather,  was 
employed  in  a  London  business  house  and  learned, 
through  a  sailor,  that  a  chest  filled  with  silver  had 
been  dug  up  on  one  of  the  islands  in  the  Pacific; 
it  was  supposed  that  it  came  from  a  vessel  that 
had  left  Peru  for  the  Philippines.-     My  uncle  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  out  the  exact  spot  where  the  ship 
had  been  wrecked,  and  at  once  he  gave  up  his  posi- 
tion and  went  off  to  the  Philippines.     He  chartered 
a  brig,  reached  the  spot  indicated, — a  reef  of  the 
Magellan    archipelago, — they   sounded    at   several 
points    and   after   hard  work   dredged   up   only   a 
few  shattered  chests  that  contained  not  a  trace  of 
anything.     When  their  food  supply  gave  out  they 
were  forced  to  return,  and  my  uncle  reached  Manila 
-*:«-k™if  a  farthing.     He  got  a  position  in  a  busi- 
>use.     After  a  year  of  this  a  fellow  from 
lited   States   proposed  that  they   should   go 
;ether  in  quest  of  the  treasure,  and  my  uncle 
d,   on  the  condition  that  they'd  share  the 


210  THE   QUEST 

profits  equally.  On  this  second  voyage  they  brought 
up  two  huge,  very  heavy  chests,  one  filled  with  silver 
ingots,  the  other  with  Mexican  gold  pieces.  The 
Yankee  and  my  uncle  divided  the  money  and  each 
one's  share  amounted  to  more  than  one  hundred 
thousand  duros.  But  my  uncle,  who  was  an  ob- 
stinate fellow,  returned  to  the  site  of  the  shipwreck 
and  this  time  he  must  have  located  the  treasure,  for 
he  came  back  to  England  with  a  collossal  fortune, 
Today  the  Hastings,  who  still  live  in  England,  are 
millionaires.  Do  you  remember  that  Fanny  who 
came  to  the  tavern  in  Las  Injurias  with  us?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  she's  one  of  the  wealthy  Hastings  of 
England." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  ask  them  for  some  money?" 
queried  Manuel. 

"No,  never.  Not  even  if  I  were  dying  of  hunger, 
and  this  despite  the  fact  that  they've  often  offered  to 
help  me.  Before  coming  to  Madrid  I  sailed  almost 
around  the  world  in  a  yacht  belonging  to  Fanny's 
brother." 

"And  this  fortune  that  you  expect  to  own,  is  it 
also  on  some  island?"  asked  Manuel. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you're  of  the  kind  that  have 
no  faith,"  answered  Roberto.  "Before  the  crow- 
ing of  the  cock  you  would  deny  me  three  times." 

"No.  I  know  nothing  of  your  affairs;  but  if  you 
should  ever  need  me,  I'll  be  ready  to  serve  you,  and 
gladly." 

"But  you  doubt  my  destiny,  and  are  wrong  to  do 
so.  You  imagine  that  I'm  a  bit  daft." 


"No,  no,  sir." 

"Bah  I  You  think  that  this  fortune  that  I'm  to 
inherit  is  all  a  hoax." 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well,  it  isn't.  The  fortune  exists.  Do  you  re- 
member I  was  once  talking  with  Don  Telmo,  in  your 
presence,  about  a  conversation  I  had  with  a  certain 
book-binder  in  his  house?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  remember." 

"Well,  that  conversation  furnished  me  with  the 
clew  to  all  the  investigations  I  afterward  conducted; 
I  won't  tell  you  how  I  went  about  collecting  data  and 
more  data,  little  by  little,  for  that  would  bore  you. 
I'll  put  the  thing  for  you  in  a  nutshell." 

As  he  finished  his  sentence  Roberto  arose  from 
the  bench  upon  which  they  were  seated  and  said  to 
Manuel: 

"Let's  be  going;  that  fellow  yonder  is  hanging 
around  trying  to  hear  what  we're  talking  about." 

Manuel  got  up,  surer  than  ever  that  Roberto  was 
crazy  on  that  point;  they  walked  by  El  Angel 
Caido,  reached  the  Meteorological  Observatory  and 
from  there  left  for  the  hills  that  lie  opposite  the 
Pacifico  and  the  Dona  Carlota  districts. 

"We  can  talk  here,"  murmured  Roberto,  "If 
any  one  comes  along,  let  me  know." 

"Don't  worry  on  that  score,"  assured  Manuel. 

"Well,  as  I  was  telling  you,  that  conversation  pro- 
vided the  foundation  of  a  fortune  that  will  soon  be 
mine ;  but  see  how  clumsy  a  fellow  can  be  and  how  ill 
things  look  when  they're  too  near.  Until  a  full 
year  after  I  had  had  that  conversation  I  made  no 


212  THE   QUEST 

attempt  to  start  my  case.  The  first  efforts  I  made 
about  two  years  ago.  The  idea  came  to  me  on  one 
Carnival  day.  I  was  giving  lessons  in  English  and 
studying  at  the  University;  of  the  little  money  I 
earned  I  had  to  send  some  to  my  mother  and  the 
rest  went  toward  my  upkeep  and  my  tuition  fees. 
This  Carnival  day, — a  Tuesday,  I  remember, — I 
had  no  more  than  three  pesetas  to  my  name;  I  had 
been  working  so  hard  and  so  steadily,  without  a 
moment's  let-up,  that  I  said  to  myself:  'Yes,  sir. 
Today  I'm  going  to  do  something  foolish.  I'm  go- 
ing to  disguise  myself.  And  surely  enough,  on  San 
Marcos  Street  I  hired  a  domino  and  a  mask  for  three 
pesetas,  and  I  went  out  on  to  the  street  with  not  a 
centimo  in  my  pocket.  I  began  to  walk  down  to- 
ward La  Castellana  and  as  I  reached  the  Cibeles 
fountain  I  stopped  and  asked  myself  in  astonish- 
ment: 'Why  did  I  have  to  spend  the  little  money  I 
had  on  me  for  a  disguise,  when  I  know  nobody  any- 
way?' 

"I  was  about  to  return  and  get  rid  of  my  disguise, 
but  there  were  so  many  people  in  the  crowd  that  I 
had  to  float  with  the  tide.  I  don't  know  whether 
you've  ever  noticed  how  lonesome  one  feels  on  these 
Carnival  days  amidst  the  throngs  of  people.  This 
solitude  in  the  crowd  is  far  more  intense  than  soli- 
1  tude  in  a  forest.  It  brought  to  my  mind  the  thou- 
/  sand  absurdities  one  commits;  the  sterility  of  my 
own  life.  'I'm  going  to  waste  my  life  in  some 
grubbing  profession,'  I  said  to  myself.  'I'll  wind  up 
by  becoming  a  teacher,  a  sort  of  English  instruc- 
tress. No;  never  that.  I  must  seek  an  opportunity 


MEETING   WITH   ROBERTO  213 

and  the  means  to  emancipate  myself  from  this  petty 
existence,  or  else  plunge  into  tragic  life.'  It  also 
occurred  to  me  that  it  was  very  possible  that  the 
opportunity  had  come  to  me  without  my  knowing 
how  to  take  advantage  of  it,  and  at  once  I  recalled 
my  conversation  with  that  book-binder.  I  decided 
to  go  into  the  matter  until  I  saw  it  more  clearly. 
Without  any  hope,  you'll  understand,  but  simply  as 
an  exercise  of  the  will.  *I  need  more  will-power,'  I 
said  to  myself,  'with  which  to  conquer  the  details 
that  come  up  every  moment  rather  than  to  perform 
some  great  sacrifice  or  be  capable  of  an  instant  of 
abnegation.  Sublime  moments,  heroic  acts,  are 
rather  the  deeds  of  an  exalted  intelligence  than  of 
the  will ;  I  have  always  felt  it  in  me  to  perform  some 
great  deed  such  as  taking  a  trench  or  defending  a 
barricade  or  going  to  the  North  Pole;  but,  would  I 
be  capable  of  finishing  a  daily  stint,  composed  of 
petty  provocations  and  dull  routine?  Yes,'  said  I 
to  myself,  and  with  this  resolution  I  mingled  with 
the  masked  merrymakers  and  returned  to  Madrid 
while  the  rest  were  at  the  height  of  their  fun." 
"And  have  you  been  working  ever  since?" 
"Ever  since,  and  with  rapid  persistency.  The 
book-binder  didn't  care  to  give  me  any  details,  so  I 
installed  myself  in  the  Casa  de  Canonigos,  asked  for 
the  Libro  de  Turnos  and  there  from  day  to  day  I'd 
look  over  list  after  list  until  I  found  the  date  of  the 
lawsuit;  from  there  I  went  to  Las  Salesas,  located 
the  archive  and  I  spent  an  entire  month  in  a  garret 
opening  dockets  until  I  found  the  documents. 
Then  I  had  to  get  baptismal  certificates,  seek  recom- 


214  THE   QUEST 

mendations  from  a  bishop,  run  hither  and  thither, 
intrigue,  scurry  to  this  place  and  that,  until  the  ques- 
tion began  to  clear  up,  and  with  all  my  documents 
properly  arranged  I  presented  my  claim  at  London. 
During  these  two  years  I  laid  the  foundations  for 
the  tower  to  the  top  of  which  I'll  climb  yet." 

"And  are  you  sure  that  the  foundations  are 
solid?" 

"Certainly.  They're  all  facts.  Here  they  are," 
and  Roberto  drew  from  his  pocket  a  folded  paper. 
"This  is  the  genealogical  tree  of  my  family.  This 
red  circle  is  Don  Fermin  Nunez  de  Latona,  priest  of 
Labraz,  who  goes  to  Venezuela  at  the  end  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  returns  to  Spain  during  the 
Trafalgar  epoch.  On  his  journey  home  an  English 
vessel  captures  the  Spanish  ship  on  which  the  priest 
is  sailing  and  takes  him  and  the  other  passengers 
prisoner,  transporting  them  to  England.  Don  Fer- 
min reclaims  his  fortune  of  the  English  government, 
it  is  returned  to  him  and  he  deposits  it  in  the  Bank  of 
England,  and  sails  back  to  Spain  during  the  War  of 
Independence.  As  money  was  none  too  safe  in  Spain 
at  that  time,  Don  Fermin  leaves  his  fortune  in  the 
Bank  of  England,  and  on  one  occasion,  desiring  to 
withdraw  a  large  sum  for  the  purchase  of  certain 
estates,  he  goes  to  England  with  a  cousin's  niece; — 
the  cousin  was  his  only  relation  and  was  named  Juan 
Antonio.  This  niece — "  and  Roberto  pointed  to  a 
circle  upon  the  sheet,  "marries  an  Irish  gentleman, 
Bandon,  and  dies  after  three  years.  The  priest 
Don  Fermin  decides  to  return  to  Spain  and  orders 
his  fortune  to  be  remitted  to  the  San  Fernando  Bank, 


MEETING   WITH   ROBERTO  215 

but  before  the  money  Is  transferred  Don  Fermin 
dies.  Bandon,  the  Irishman,  presents  a  will  in  which 
the  priest  names  his  niece  as  sole  heir,  and  proves, 
moreover,  that  he  had  a  son  by  his  wife,  who  died 
directly  after  baptism.  Don  Fermin's  cousin,  Juan 
Antonio,  of  Labraz,  brings  suit  against  BanJon,  and 
the  suit  lasts  for  nearly  twenty  years.  Juan  An- 
tonio dies  and  the  Irishman  is  thus  enabled  to  collect 
part  of  the  inheritance. 

"Juan  Antonio's  other  daughter  marries  a  cousin 
of  hers,  a  merchant  of  Haro,  and  has  three  children, 
two  boys  and  a  girl.  The  girl  enters  a  nunnery,  one 
of  the  boys  dies  in  the  Carlist  war  and  the  other  goes 
into  business  and  leaves  for  America. 

"This  fellow,  Juan  Manuel  Nunez  makes  a 
regular  fortune  and  marries  a  native  and  has  two 
daughters:  Augusta  and  Margarita.  Augusta,  the 
younger,  marries  my  father,  Ricardo  Hasting,  who 
was  a  madcap  and  ran  away  from  his  home;  Mar- 
garita weds  a  soldier,  colonel  Buenavida.  They  all 
come  to  Spain  with  plenty  of  money;  my  father 
plunges  into  disastrous  business  schemes,  and 
after  he  has  been  utterly  ruined  he  learns,  I  don't 
know  how,  that  the  fortune  of  the  priest  Nunez  de 
Latona  is  at  the  disposition  of  the  heirs.  He  goes  to 
England,  enters  his  claim;  they  demand  his  docu- 
ments, he  brings  forth  the  baptismal  records  of  his 
wife's  ancestors  and  it  is  found  that  the  priest  Don 
Fermin's  birth  registration  is  missing.  Soon  my 
father  gives  up  writing  and  years  and  years  go  by;  at 
the  end  of  more  than  ten  we  receive  a  letter  telling 
us  that  he  has  died  in  Australia. 


216  THE   QUEST 

"Margarita,  my  mother's  sister,  is  left  a  widow 
with  a  daughter,  marries  a  second  time,  and  her  hus- 
band turns  out  a  rascal  of  the  worst  brand  who 
leaves  her  without  a  centime.  Rosa,  the  daughter 
of  the  first  marriage,  unable  to  put  up  with  her 
step-father,  elopes  with  an  actor  and  nothing  more 
is  heard  of  her. 

"If,"  added  Roberto,  "you  have  followed  my 
explanations,  you  will  have  seen  that  the  only  remain- 
ing relatives  of  Don  Fermm  Nunez  de  Latona  are 
my  sisters  and  I,  because  Margarita's  daughter  Rosa 
Nunez  has  died. 

"Now,  the  point  is  to  prove  this  relationship,  and 
this  relationship  is  proved,  for  I  have  the  baptismal 
documents  that  show  our  descent  in  a  direct  line 
from  Juan  Antonio,  Fermin's  brother.  But  why 
doesn't  Fermm  Nunez  de  Latona's  name  appear  in 
the  parish  register  of  Labraz?  That's  what's  been 
bothering  me,  and  I've  settled  it.  That  Irishman 
Bandon,  when  his  rival  Juan  Antonio  died,  sent  to 
Spain  an  agent  named  Shaphter,  who  caused  the  dis- 
appearance of  Don  Fermin's  baptismal  certificate. 
How?  I  don't  know  as  yet.  In  the  meantime, 
I'm  continuing  the  claim  in  London,  just  to  keep  the 
case  in  the  courts,  and  the  Hastings  are  the  ones  who 
are  pushing  the  suit." 

"And  how  much  does  this  fortune  amount  to?" 
asked  Manuel. 

"Reckoning  principal  and  interest,  to  a  million 
pounds  sterling." 

"And  is  that  much?" 

"Without  allowing  for  exchange,  about  one  hun- 


MEETING   WITH   ROBERTO  217 

dred  million  reales;  allowing  for  exchange,  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty." 

Manuel  burst  out  laughing. 

"And  all  for  you  alone?" 

"For  me  and  my  sisters.  You  can  just  imagine, 
when  I  collect  that  sum,  what  these  cheap  carriages 
and  such  things  will  mean  to  me.  Nothing  at  all." 

"And  now,  in  the  meantime,  you  haven't  a  peseta." 

"Such  is  life.  You've  got  to  wait.  It  can't  be 
helped.  Now,  when  nobody  believes  me,  I  enjoy 
the  recognition  of  my  own  strength  more  than  I'll 
enjoy  my  subsequent  triumph.  I  have  reared  a 
whole  mountain;  a  dense  mist  prevents  people 
from  seeing  it;  tomorrow  the  clouds  will  scatter  and 
the  mountain  will  stand  forth  with  snow-crowned 
crests." 

Manuel  thought  it  silly  to  be  talking  of  all  this 
opulence  when  neither  of  them  had  enough  to  buy 
a  meal.  Pretending  important  matters,  he  took 
leave  of  Roberto. 


CHAPTER  IV, 

Dolores    the    Scandalous — Pastiri's    Tricks — Tender    Sav- 
agery— A  Modest  Out-of-the-way  Robbery. 

AFTER  a  week  spent  in  sleeping  in  the  open 
Manuel  decided  one  day  to  rejoin  Vidal 
and  Bizco  and  to  take  up  their  evil  ways 

He  inquired  after  his  friends  in  the  taverns  on  the 
Andalucia  cart-road,  at  La  Llorosa,  Las  Injurias, 
and  a  chum  of  El  Bizco,  who  was  named  El  Chingui, 
told  him  that  El  Bizco  was  staying  at  Las  Cambron- 
eras,  at  the  home  of  a  well-known  thieving  strumpet 
called  Dolores  the  Scandalous. 

Manuel  went  off  to  Las  Cambroneras,  asked  for 
Dolores  and  was  shown  a  door  in  a  patio  inhabited 
by  gipsies. 

Manuel  knocked,  but  Dolores  refused  to  open  the 
door;  finally,  after  hearing  the  boy's  explanations, 
she  allowed  him  to  come  in. 

Dolores'  home  consisted  of  a  room  about  three 
metres  square;  in  the  rear  could  be  made  out  a  bed 
where  El  Bizco  was  sleeping  in  his  clothes,  beside  a 
sort  of  vaulted  niche  with  a  chimney  and  a  tiny  fire- 
place. The  furnishings  of  the  room  consisted  of 
a  table,  a  trunk,  a  white  shelf  containing  plates  and 
earthenware  pots,  and  a  pine  wall-bracket  that  sup- 
ported an  oil-lamp. 

218 


DOLORES  219 

Dolores  was  a  woman  of  about  fifty;  she  wore 
black  clothes,  a  red  kerchief  knotted  around  her  fore- 
head like  a  bandage  and  another  of  some  indistinct 
colour  over  her  head. 

Manuel  called  to  El  Bizco  and,  when  the  cross- 
eyed fellow  awoke,  asked  after  Vidal. 

"He'll  be  here  right  away,"  said  El  Bizco,  and 
then,  turning  upon  the  old  lady,  he  growled:  "Hey, 
you,  fetch  my  boots." 

Dolores  was  slow  in  executing  his  orders,  where- 
upon El  Bizco,  wishing  to  show  off  his  domination 
over  the  woman,  struck  her. 

The  woman  did  not  even  mumble;  Manuel  looked 
coldly  at  El  Bizco,  in  disgust;  the  other  averted  his 
gaze. 

"Want  a  bite?"  asked  El  Bizco  of  Manuel  when 
he  had  got  out  of  bed. 

"If  you  have  anything  good  .  .  ." 

Dolores  drew  from  the  fire  a  pan  filled  with  meat 
and  potatoes. 

"You  take  good  care  of  yourselves,"  murmured 
Manuel,  whom  hunger  had  made  profoundly 
cynical. 

"They  trust  us  at  the  butcher's,"  said  Dolores, 
to  explain  the  abundance  of  meat. 

"If  you  and  I  didn't  work  hard  hereabouts,"  in- 
terjected El  Bizco,  "much  we'd  be  eating." 

The  woman  smiled  modestly.  They  finished  their 
lunch  and  Dolores  produced  a  bottle  of  wine. 

"This  woman,"  declared  El  Bizco,  "just  as  you 
behold  her  there,  beats  them  all.  Show  him  what 
we  have  in  the  corner." 


220  THEQUEST 

"Not  now,  man." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Suppose  some  one  should  come?'* 

"I'll  bolt  the  door." 

"All  right." 

El  Bizco  bolted  the  door.  Dolores  pushed  the 
table  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  went  over  to  the 
wall,  pulled  away  a  scrap  of  kalsomined  canvas  about 
a  yard  square,  and  revealed  a  gap  crammed  with 
ribbons,  cords,  lace  edging  and  other  objects  of 
passementerie. 

"How's  that?"  said  El  Bizco.  "And  it's  all  of 
her  own  collecting." 

"You  must  have  quite  a  bit  of  money  there." 

"Yes.  It's  worth  quite  a  bit,"  agreed  Dolores. 
Then  she  let  the  strip  of  canvas  fall  into  place 
against  the  excavation  in  the  wall,  fastened  it  and 
drew  up  the  bed  before  it.  El  Bizco  unbolted  the 
door.  In  a  few  moments  there  was  a  knock. 

"That  must  be  Vidal,"  said  El  Bizco,  adding  in  a 
low  voice,  as  he  turned  to  Manuel,  "See  here,  not  a 
word  to  him." 

Vidal  strutted  in  with  his  carefree  air,  expressed 
his  pleasure  at  Manuel's  coming,  and  the  three  left 
for  the  street. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  around  here?"  asked  the  old 
woman. 

"Yes." 

"Don't  come  late,  then,  eh?"  added  Dolores,  ad- 
dressing Bizco. 

The  cross-eyed  bully  did  not  deign  to  make  any 
reply. 


DOLORES  221 

The  three  chums  went  to  the  square  that  faces 
Toledo  bridge;  near  by,  at  a  stand  owned  by  Gara- 
tusa,  a  penitentiary  graduate  who  ran  a  "fence"  for 
thieves  and  didn't  lose  any  money  at  it,  they  had  a 
drink  and  then,  walking  along  Ocho  Hilos  Avenue 
they  came  to  the  Ronda  de  Toledo. 

The  vicinity  of  El  Rastro  was  thronged  with  Sun- 
day crowds. 

Along  the  wall  of  Las  Grandiosas  Americas,  in 
the  space  between  the  Slaughter-house  and  the 
Veterninary  School,  a  long  row  of  itinerant  hawkers 
had  set  up  their  stands. 

Some,  garbed  like  beggars,  stood  dozing  motion- 
less against  the  wall,  indifferently  contemplating  their 
wares:  old  pictures,  new  chromographs,  books; 
useless,  damaged,  filthy  articles  which  they  felt  sure 
none  of  the  public  would  purchase.  Others  were 
gesticulating  and  arguing  with  their  customers; 
several  repulsive,  grimy  old  women  with  huge  straw 
hats  on  their  heads,  dirty  hands,  arms  akimbo  and 
indecencies  quivering  upon  their  lips,  were  chattering 
away  like  magpies. 

The  gipsy  women  in  their  motley  garments  were 
combing  their  little  brunettes  and  their  black-skinned, 
large-eyed  churumbeles  in  the  sun;  a  knot  of 
vagrants  was  carrying  on  a  serious  discussion;  mendi- 
cants wrapped  in  rags,  maimed,  crippled,  were  shout- 
ing, singing,  wailing,  and  the  Sunday  throng,  in 
search  of  bargains,  scurried  back  and  forth,  stopping 
now  and  then  to  question,  to  pry,  while  folks  passed 
by  with  faces  congested  by  the  heat  of  the  sun, — a 
spring  sun  that  blinded  one  with  the  chalky  reflec- 


222  THE   QUEST 

tion  of  the  dusty  soil,  glittering  and  sparkling  with 
a  thousand  glints  in  the  broken  mirrors  and  the  metal 
utensils  displayed  in  heaps  upon  the  ground.  To 
add  to  this  deafening  roar  of  cries  and  shouts,  two 
organs  pierced  the  air  with  the  merry  wheeze  of 
their  blending,  interweaving  tones. 

Manuel,  El  Bizco  and  Vidal  strolled  to  the  head 
of  El  Rastro  and  turned  down  again.  At  the  door 
of  Las  Americas  they  met  Pastiri  sniffing  around' the 
place. 

Catching  sight  of  Manuel  and  the  other  two,  the 
fellow  of  the  three  cards  approached  and  said: 

"Shall  we  have  some  winq?" 

"Sure." 

They  entered  one  of  the  taverns  of  the  Ronda. 
Pastiri  was  alone  that  day,  as  his  companion  had 
gone  off  to  the  Escorial;  since  he  had  no  one  to  act 
as  his  confederate  in  the  game  he  hadn't  made  a 
centimo.  Now,  if  they  would  consent  to  act  as  bait 
to  induce  the  inquisitive  onlookers  to  play,  he'd  give 
them  a  share  of  the  profits. 

"Ask  him  how  much?"  said  El  Bizco  to  Vidal. 

"Don't  be  an  idiot." 

Pastiri  explained  the  matter  for  El  Bizco's  benefit; 
the  confederates  were  to  place  bets  and  then  pro- 
claim in  a  loud  voice  that  they  had  won.  Then  he'd 
see  to  making  the  spectators  eager  to  play. 

"All  right.     We  know  what  to  do,"  said  Vidal. 

"You  agree  to  the  scheme?" 

"Yes,  man." 

Pastiri  gave  them  three  pesetas  apiece  and  the 


DOLORES  223 

four  left  the  tavern,  crossed  the  Ronda  and  made 
their  way  in  the  crowds  of  El  Rastro. 

Every  once  in  a  while  Pastiri  would  stop,  thinking 
he  had  caught  sight  of  a  prospective  dupe;  El  Bizco 
or  Manuel  would  place  a  bet;  but  the  fellow  who 
looked  like  an  easy  victim  would  smile  as  he  saw 
them  lay  the  snare  or  else  pass  on  indifferently,  quite 
accustomed  to  this  type  of  trickery. 

Soon  Pastiri  noticed  a  group  of  rustics  with  their 
broad  hats  and  short  trousers. 

"Aluspiar,  here  come  a  few  birds  and  we  may 
work  them  for  something,"  he  said,  and  he  planted 
himself  and  his  card  table  directly  in  the  path  of 
the  country-folk  and  began  his  game. 

El  Bizco  bet  two  pesetas  and  won;  Manuel  fol- 
lowed suit  with  the  same  results. 

"This  fellow  is  a  cinch,"  said  Vidal  in  a  loud  voice, 
turning  to  the  group  of  hayseeds.  "Have  you  seen 
all  the  money  he's  losing?  That  soldier  there  just 
won  six  duros." 

Hearing  this,  one  of  the  rustics  drew  near,  and 
seeing  that  Manuel  and  El  Bizco  were  winning,  he 
wagered  a  peseta  and  won.  The  fellow's  compan- 
ions advised  him  to  retire  with  his  winnings;  but 
his  greed  got  the  best  of  him  and  he  returned  to  bet 
two  pesetas,  losing  them. 

Then  Vidal  bet  a  duro. 

"Here's  a  five-peseta  piece,"  he  declared,  ringing 
the  coin  upon  the  ground,  He  picked  out  'the 
right  card  and  won. 

Pastiri  made  a  gesture  of  anoyance. 


224  THEQUEST 

The  rustic  wagered  another  duro  and  lost;  he 
glanced  anxiously  at  his  fellow  countrymen,  ex- 
tracted another  duro  and  lost  that,  too. 

At  this  moment  a  guard  happened  along  and  the 
group  broke  up;  noting  Pastiri's  movement  of 
flight,  the  hayseed  tried  to  seize  him,  grabbing  at 
his  coat,  but  the  trickster  gave  a  rude  tug  and 
escaped  in  the  crowd. 

Manuel,  Vidal  and  El  Bizco  made  their  way 
across  the  Plaza  del  Rastro  to  Embajadores  Street. 

El  Bizco  had  four  pesetas,  Manuel  six  and  Vidal 
fourteen. 

"And  what  are  we  going  to  return  to  that  guy?" 
asked  El  Bizco. 

"Return?     Nothing,"  answered  Vidal. 

"Why,  that  would  be  robbing  him  of  his  whole 
year's  profits,"  objected  Manuel. 

"What  of  it?  Deuce  take  him,"  retorted  Vidal. 
"We  came  darn  near  getting  caught  ourselves,  with 
nothing  for  our  trouble." 

It  was  lunch  hour  and  they  wondered  where  to  go ; 
Vidal  settled  it,  saying  that  as  long  as  they  were  on 
Embajadores  Street,  the  Society  of  the  Three,  in 
plenary  session,  might  as  well  continue  on  the  way 
down  till  they  got  to  La  Manigua  restaurant. 

The  suggestion  was  accepted  and  the  associates 
spent  that  Sunday  afternoon  in  royal  fashion;  Vidal 
was  splendid,  spending  Pastiri's  money  right  and  left, 
inviting  several  girls  to  their  table  and  dancing  all 
the  chulo  steps. 

To  Manuel  this  beginning  of  his  free  life  seemed 
not  at  all  bad.  At  night  the  three  comrades,  some- 


DOLORES  225 

what  the  worse  for  wine,  ambled  up  Embajadores 
Street,  turning  into  the  surrounding  road. 

"Where  am  I  going  to  sleep?"  asked  Manuel. 

"Come  over  to  my  house,"  answered  Vidal. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  Casa  Blanca,  El  Bizco 
left  them. 

"Thank  the  Lord  that  tramp  has  gone,"  muttered 
Vidal. 

"Have  you  had  a  scrap  with  him?" 

"He's  a  beastly  fellow.  He  lives  with  La 
Escandalosa,  who's  an  old  fox  in  truth,  sixty  years  at 
the  very  least,  and  spends  everything  she  robs  with 
her  lovers.  But  she  feeds  him  and  he  ought  to  have 
some  consideration  for  her.  Nothing  doing, 
though;  he's  always  kicking  her  and  punching  her 
and  pricking  her  with  his  dirk,  and  one  time  he  even 
heated  an  iron  and  wanted  to  burn  her.  If  he  takes 
her  money,  well  and  good;  but  what's  the  sense  of 
his  burning  her?" 

They  reached  Casa  Blanca,  a  squalid  section  con- 
sisting of  a  single  street;  Vidal  opened  a  door  with 
his  key;  he  lighted  a  match  and  the  pair  climbed  up 
to  a  tiny  room  with  a  mattress  placed  on  the  bricks. 

"You'll  have  to  sleep  on  the  floor,"  said  Vidal. 
"This  bed  belongs  to  my  girl." 

"All  right." 

"Take  this  for  your  head,"  and  he  threw  him  a 
woman's  rolled-up  skirt. 

Manuel  pillowed  his  head  against  the  skirt  and 
fell  asleep.  He  awoke  at  dawn.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  sat  down  upon  the  floor  without  a  thought 
as  to  where  he  might  be.  Through  a  tiny  window 


226  THE   QUEST 

came  a  pale  glow.  Vidal,  stretched  out  on  the  mat- 
tress, was  snoring;  beside  him  slept  a  girl,  breathing 
with  her  mouth  wide  open;  long  streaks  of  rouge 
stained  her  cheeks. 

Manuel  felt  nauseated  by  the  excess  of  the  pre- 
vious day's  drink;  he  was  deeply  dejected.  He 
gave  serious  thought  to  his  life-problems. 

"I'm  not  made  for  this,"  he  told  himself.  "I'm 
neither  a  savage  like  Bizco  nor  a  brazen,  carefree 
lout  like  Vidal.  What  am  I  going  to  do,  then?" 

A  thousand  things  occurred  to  him,  for  the  most 
part  impossible  of  attainment;  he  imagined  all  man- 
ner of  involved  projects.  Within  him,  vaguely,  his 
maternal  inheritance,  with  its  respect  for  all 
established  custom,  struggled  against  his  anti-social, 
vagrant  instincts  that  were  fed  by  his  mode  of  living. 

"Vidal  and  Bizco,"  he  said  to  himself,  "are  luckier 
chaps  than  myself.  They  don't  hesitate;  they  have 
no  scruples.  They've  got  a  start  on  their 
careers.  .  .  ." 

In  the  end,  he  considered,  they  would  come  to 
the  gallows  or  to  the  penitentiary;  but  in  the  mean- 
time the  one  experienced  no  suffering  because  he  was 
too  beastly  to  know  what  it  meant,  and  the  other  be- 
cause he  was  too  lazy,  and  both  of  them  let  them- 
selves float  tranquilly  with  the  stream. 


Despite  his  scruples  and  his  remorse,  Manuel  spent 
the  summer  under  the  protection  of  El  Bizco  and 
Vidal,  living  in  Casa  Blanca  with  his  cousin  and  his 


DOLORES  227 

cousin's  mistress,  a  girl  who  sold  newspapers  and 
practised  thievery  at  the  same  time. 

The  Society  of  the  Three  carried  on  its  operations 
in  the  suburbs  and  Las  Ventas,  La  Prosperidad  and 
the  Dona  Carlota  section,  the  Vallecas  bridge  and 
the  Four  Roads;  and  if  the  existence  of  this  society 
never  came  to  be  suspected  and  never  figured  in  the 
annals  of  crime,  it  is  because  its  misdemeanours  were 
limited  to  modest  burglaries  of  the  sort  facilitated 
by  the  carelessness  of  property  owners. 

The  three  associates  were  not  content  to  operate 
in  the  suburbs  of  Madrid;  they  extended  the  radius 
of  their  activities  to  the  nearby  towns  and  to  all 
places  in  general  where  crowds  came  together. 

The  market  and  the  small  squares  were  test  local- 
ities, for  the  booty  might  be  of  a  larger  quantity  but 
on  the  other  hand  the  police  were  especially  vigilant. 

In  general,  they  exploited  the  laundries  more  than 
any  other  place. 

Vidal,  like  the  clever  fellow  he  was,  managed  to 
convince  El  Bizco  that  he  was  the  most  gifted  of  the 
three  for  the  work.  The  cross-eyed  thug,  out  of 
sheer  vanity,  always  undertook  the  most  difficult  part 
of  the  task,  seizing  the  booty,  while  Vidal  and 
Manuel  kept  a  sharp  lookout. 

Vidal  would  say  to  Manuel,  at  the  very  moment 
of  the  robbery,  when  El  Bizco  already  had  the  stolen 
sheet  or  chemise  under  his  coat: 

"If  anyone  happens  along,  don't  say  a  word; 
nothing.  Let  them  arrest  him;  we'll  shut  up  tight 
as  clams,  absolutely  motionless ;  if  they  ask  anything, 
we  know  nothing.  Right-o?" 


228  THE   QUEST 

"Agreed." 

Sheets,  chemises,  cloaks  and  all  the  other  articles 
they  robbed  they  would  sell  at  the  second-hand  shop 
on  La  Ribera  de  Curtidores,  which  Don  Telmo  used 
to  visit.  The  owner,  employe  or  whatever  he  was  of 
the  shop,  would  purchase  everything  the  thieves 
brought,  at  a  very  low  price. 

This  "fence,"  which  profited  by  the  oversight  of 
some  base  officer  (for  the  police  lists  did  not  bother 
with  these  things),  was  presided  over  by  a  fellow 
called  Uncle  Perquique.  He  spent  his  whole  life 
passing  to  and  fro  in  front  of  his  establishment. 
To  deceive  the  municipal  guard  he  sold  shoe-laces 
and  bargains  that  came  from  the  old-clothes  shop 
he  conducted. 

In  the  spring  this  fellow  would  don  a  cook's  white 
cap  and  cry  out  his  tarts  with  a  word  that  he  scarcely 
pronounced  and  which  he  liked  to  alter  constantly. 
Sometimes  the  word  seemed  to  be  Perquique !  Per- 
quique! but  at  once  it  would  change  sound  and  be 
transformed  into  Perqueque  or  Parquique,  and  these 
phonetic  modifications  were  extended  to  infinity. 

The  origin  of  this  word  Perquique,  which  cannot 
be  found  in  the  dictionary,  was  as  follows :  The 
cream  tarts  sold  by  the  man  in  the  white  cap 
brought  five  centimes  apiece  and  he  would  cry  "A 
perra  chicaf  A  perra  chica!  Only  five  pesetas 
apiece  I  A  five-peseta  piece!"  As  a  result  of  his 
lazy  enunciation  he  suppressed  the  first  A  and  con- 
verted the  other  two  into  E,  thus  transforming  his 
cry  into  "Perre  chiquef  Perre  chique!"  Later, 
Perre  chique  turned  into  Perquique. 


DOLORES  229 

The  "fence"  guard,  a  jolly  soul,  was  a  specialist 
in  crying  wares;  he  shaded  his  cries  most  artistically; 
he  would  go  from  the  highest  notes  to  the  lowest 
or  vice  versa.  He  would  begin,  for  example,  on  a 
very  high  note,  shouting: 

"Look  here!  A  real!  Only  one  real!  Ladies' 
and  gents'  hosiery  at  a  real  a  pair!  Look-a-here 
now!  A  real  a  pair!"  Then,  lowering  his  regis- 
ter, he  would  continue,  gravely:  "A  nice  Bayonne 
waistcoat.  A  splendid  bargain!"  And  as  a  finale, 
he  would  add  in  a  basso  profundo:  "Only  twenty 
pesetas !" 

Uncle  Perquique  knew  the  Society  of  the  Three, 
and  he  would  favour  El  Bizco  and  Vidal  with  his  ad- 
vice. 

Safer  and  more  profitable  than  dealing  with  the 
stolen-goods  purchasers  of  the  second-hand  shop 
was  the  plan  followed  by  Dolores  la  Escandalosa, 
who  sold  the  ribbons  and  the  lace  that  she  pilfered 
to  itinerant  hawkers  who  paid  very  well.  But  the 
members  of  the  Society  of  the  Three  were  eager  to 
get  their  dividends  quickly. 

The  sale  completed,  the  three  would  repair  to  a 
tavern  at  the  end  of  E'mbaj adores  avenue,  corner 
of  Las  Delicias,  which  they  called  the  Handkerchief 
Corner. 

The  associates  were  especially  careful  not  to  rob 
twice  in  the  same  place  and  never  to  appear  together 
in  those  vicinities  where  unfavourable  surveillance 
was  suspected. 

Some  days,  which  did  not  come  often,  when  theft 
brought  no  plunder,  the  three  companions  were  com- 


130  THEQUEST 

pelled  to  work  in  the  Campillo  del  Mundo  Nuevo, 
scattering  heaps  of  wood  and  gathering  it  together 
with  rakes  after  it  had  been  properly  aired  and 
dried. 

Another  of  the  Society's  means  of  subsistence  was 
cat-hunting.  El  Bizco,  who  was  endowed  with  no 
talent  (his  head,  as  Vidal  said,  was  a  salted  melon) 
had  a  really  great  gift  for  catching  cats.  All  he 
needed  was  a  sack  and  a  stick  and  he  did  famously. 
Every  living  cat  in  sight  was  soon  in  his  game-bag. 

The  members  made  no  distinction  between  slender 
or  consumptive  cats,  or  pregnant  tabbies.  Every 
puss  that  came  along  was  devoured  with  the  same 
ravenous  appetite.  They  would  sell  the  skins  in  El 
Rastro;  when  there  were  no  ready  funds,  the  inn- 
keeper of  the  Handkerchief  Corner  would  let  them 
have  wine  and  bread  on  tick,  and  the  Society  would 
indulge  in  a  Sardanapalesque  banquet.  .  .  . 

One  afternoon  in  August  Vidal,  who  had  dined 
in  Las  Ventas  the  previous  day  with  his  girl,  pro- 
posed to  his  comrades  a  scheme  to  rob  an  abandoned 
house  on  the  East  Road. 

The  project  was  discussed  in  all  seriousness,  and 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  the  three 
went  out  to  look  the  territory  over. 

It  was  Sunday,  there  was  a  bull-fight;  omnibuses 
and  street  cars,  packed  with  people,  rolled  along 
Alcala  Street  beside  open  hacks  occupied  by  harlots 
in  Manila  mantles  and  men  of  knavish  mien. 

Outside  the  bull-ring  the  throng  was  denser  than 
ever;  from  the  street  cars  came  pouring  streams  of 
people  who  ran  for  the  entrance ;  the  ticket-specula- 


DOLORES  231 

tors  rushed  upon  them  with  a  shout;  amidst  the  black 
multitude  shone  the  white  helmets  of  the  mounted 
guards.  From  the  inside  of  the  ring  came  a  muffled 
roar  like  the  tide. 

Vidal,  El  Bizco  and  Manuel,  chagrined  that  they 
could  not  go  in,  continued  on  their  way,  passed  Las 
Ventas  and  took  the  road  to  Vicalvaro.  The  south 
wind,  warm  and  sultry,  laid  a  white  sheet  of  dust 
over  the  fields;  along  the  road  from  different  direc- 
tions drove  black  and  white  hearses,  for  adults  and 
children  respectively,  followed  by  gigs  containing 
mourners. 

Vidal  indicated  the  house :  it  stood  back  from  the 
road  and  seemed  abandoned.  It  was  fronted  by  a 
garden  with  its  gate;  behind  extended  an  orchard 
planted  with  leafless  saplings,  with  a  water-mill. 
The  orchard-wall  was  low  and  could  be  scaled  with 
relative  facility;  no  danger  threatened;  there  were 
neither  prying  neighbours  nor  dogs;  the  nearest 
house,  a  marbler's  workshop,  was  more  than  three 
hundred  metres  distant. 

From  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house  could  be 
made  out  the  East  cemetery,  girded  by  arid  yellow 
fields  and  barren  hillocks;  in  the  opposite  direction 
rose  the  Bull  Ring  with  its  bright  banner  and  the 
outlying  houses  of  Madrid.  The  dusty  road  to  the 
burial-ground  ran  between  ravines  and  green  slopes, 
among  abandoned  tile-kilns  and  excavations  that 
showed  the  reddish  ochre  bowels  of  the  earth. 

After  a  minute  examination  of  the  house  and  its 
surroundings,  the  three  returned  to  Las  Ventas.  At 
•night  they  felt  like  going  back  to  Madrid,  but  Vidal 


232  THEQUEST 

suggested  that  they  had  better  remain  where  they 
were,  so  that  they  could  commit  the  robbery  at  dawn 
of  the  next  day.  This  was  decided  upon  and  they 
lay  down  in  a  tile-kiln,  in  the  passageway  formed  by 
two  walls  of  heaped-up  bricks. 

A  cold  wind  blew  violently  throughout  the  night. 
Manuel  was  the  first  to  awake  and  he  roused  the 
other  two.  They  left  the  passageway  formed  by 
the  walls  of  bricks.  It  was  still  night;  from  time 
to  time  a  segment  of  the  moon  peered  through  the 
dark  clouds;  now  it  hid,  now  it  seemed  to  rest  upon 
the  bosom  of  one  of  those  dense  clouds  which  it 
silvered  so  delicately. 

In  the  distance,  above  Madrid  a  bright  glow  be- 
gan to  appear,  irradiated  by  the  lights  of  the  city;  a 
few  tombstones  in  the  cemetery  cast  a  pallid  shim- 
mer. 

Dawn  was  already  tinting  the  heavens  with  its 
melancholy  flush  when  the  three  robbers  approached 
the  house. 

Manuel's  heart  was  pounding  with  agitation. 

"Ah,  by  the  way,"  said  Vidal.  "If  by  any  acci- 
dent we  should  be  surprised,  we  mustn't  run;  we've 
got  to  stick  right  in  the  house." 

El  Bizco  burst  into  laughter;  Manuel,  who  knew 
that  his  cousin  wasn't  talking  just  for  the  sake  of 
hearing  his  voice,  asked: 

"Why?" 

"Because  if  they  catch  us  in  the  house  it's  only  a 
balked  attempt  at  robbery,  and  the  punishment  isn't 
severe;  on  the  other  hand,  if  they  catch  us  in  flight, 


DOLORES  233 

that  would  be  a  successful  robbery  and  the  penalty 
would  be  great.  So  I  was  told  yesterday." 

"Well,  I'll  escape  if  I  can." 

"Do  as  you  please." 

They  scaled  the  wall;  Vidal  remained  astride  of 
it,  leaning  forward  and  watching  for  signs  of  any 
one.  Manuel  and  El  Bizco,  making  their  Vay 
astraddle  along  the  wall,  approached  the  house  and, 
entrusting  their  feet  to  the  roof  of  a  shed,  jumped 
down  to  a  terrace  with  a  bower  slightly  higher  than 
the  orchard. 

The  rear  door  and  the  balconies  of  the  ground 
floor  led  to  this  gallery;  but  both  the  door  and  the 
balconies  were  so  well  fastened  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  open  them. 

"Can't  you  make  it?"  whispered  Vidal  from  his 
perch. 

"No." 

"Here,  take  my  knife."  And  Vidal  threw  it 
dawn  to  the  gallery. 

Manuel  tried  to  pry  the  balconies  open  with  the 
knife  but  met  with  no  success;  El  Bizco  attempted 
to  force  the  door  with  his  shoulder  and  it  yielded 
enough  to  leave  a  chink,  whereupon  Manuel  intro- 
duced the  blade  of  the  knife  and  worked  the  catch 
of  the  lock  back  until  he  could  open  the  door.  El 
Bizco  and  Manuel  then  went  in. 

The  lower  floor  of  the  house  consisted  of  a  vesti- 
bule, which  formed  the  bottom  of  a  staircase  lead- 
ing to  a  corridor,  and  two  rooms  whose  balconies 
overlooked  the  orchard. 


234  THE   QUEST 

The  first  thing  that  came  to  Manuel's  head  was 
to  open  the  lock  of  the  door  that  led  to  the  road. 

"Now,"  said  El  Bizco  to  him,  after  admiring 
this  prudent  precaution,  "let's  see  what  there  is  in 
the  place." 

They  set  about  calmly  and  deliberately  to  take 
an  inventory  of  the  house;  there  wasn't  three 
ochavos'  worth  of  material  in  the  entire  establish- 
ment. They  were  forcing  the  dining-room  closet 
when  of  a  sudden  they  heard  the  bark  of  a  dog  close 
by  and  they  ran  in  fright  to  the  gallery. 

"What's   the   matter?"   they  asked   Vidal. 

"A  damned  dog's  begun  to  bark  and  he'll  cer- 
tainly attract  somebody's  attention." 

"Throw  a  stone  at  him." 

"Where'll  I  get  it?" 

"Scare  him." 

"He'll  bark  all  the  more." 

"Jump  down  here,  or  they'll  surely  see  you.'  ' 

Vidal  jumped  down  into  the  orchard.  The  dog, 
who  must  have  been  a  moral  animal  and  a  defender 
of  private  property,  continued  his  loud  barking. 

"But  the  deuce!"  growled  Vidal  at  his  friends. 
"Haven't  you  finished  yet?" 

"There's  nothing!" 

The  three  returned  to  the  rooms  trembling;  they 
seized  a  napkin  and  stuffed  into  it  whatever  they 
laid  hands  upon:  a  copper  clock,  .a  white  metal 
candlestick,  a  broken  electric  bell,  a  mercury  barom- 
eter, a  magnet  and  a  toy  cannon. 

Vidal  climbed  up  the  wall  with  the  bundle. 

"Here  he  is,"  he  whispered  in  fright. 


DOLORES  235 

"Who?" 

"The  dog." 

"I'll  go  down  first,"  mumbled  Manuel,  and  plac- 
ing the  knife  between  his  teeth  he  let  himself  drop. 
The  dog,  instead  of  setting  upon  him,  withdrew  a 
short  distance,  but  he  continued  his  barking. 

Vidal  did  not  dare  to  jump  down  with  the  bundle 
in  his  hands;  so  he  threw  it  carefully  upon  some 
bushes;  as  it  fell,  only  the  barometer  broke;  the  rest 
was  already  broken.  El  Bizco  and  Vidal  then 
jumped  down  and  the  three  associates  set  out  on  a 
cross-country  run,  pursued  by  the  canine  defender 
of  private  property,  who  barked  at  their  heels. 

"What  damned  fools  we  are!"  exclaimed  Vidal, 
stopping.  "If  a  guard  should  see  us  running  like 
this  he'd  certainly  arrest  us." 

"And  if  we  pass  the  city  gate  they'll  recognize 
what  we're  carrying  in  this  bundle  and  we'll  be 
stopped,"  added  Manuel. 

The  Society  halted  to  deliberate  and  choose  a 
course  of  action.  The  booty  was  left  at  the  foot  of 
a  wall.  They  lay  down  on  the  ground. 

"A  great  many  rag-dealers  and  dustmen  pass 
this  way,"  said  Vidal,  "on  the  road  to  La  Elipa. 
Let's  offer  this  to  the  first  one  that  comes  along." 

"For  three  duros,"  corrected  El  Bizco. 

"Why,  of  course." 

They  waited  a  while  and  soon  a  ragpicker  hove 
into  view,  bearing  an  empty  sack  and  headed  for 
Madrid,.  Vidal  called  him  over  and  offered  to 
sell  their  bundle. 

"What'll  you  give  us  for  these  things?" 


236  THEQUEST 

The  ragdealer  looked  over  the  contents  of  the 
bundle,  made  a  second  inventory,  and  then  in  a  jest- 
ing tone,  with  a  rough  voice,  asked: 

"Where  did  you  steal  this?" 

The  three  associates  chorused  their  protestation, 
but  the  ragpicker  paid  no  heed. 

"I  can't  give  you  more  than  three  pesetas  for 
the  whole  business." 

"No,"  answered  Vidal.  "Rather  than  accept  that 
we'll  take  the  bundle  with  us." 

"All  right.  The  first  guard  I  meet  I'll  inform 
against  you  and  tell  him  that  you're  carrying  stolen 
goods  on  your  person." 

"Come  across  with  the  three  pesetas,"  said  Vidal. 
"Take  the  bundle." 

Vidal  took  the  money  and  the  ragdealer,  laughing, 
took  the  package. 

"The  first  guard  we  see  we'll  tell  that  you've  got 
stolen  goods  in  your  sack,"  shouted  Vidal  to  the 
ragdealer.  The  man  with  the  sack  got  angry  and 
gave  chase  to  the  trio. 

"Hey  there  I  Come  back  I  Come  back!"  he 
bellowed. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Give  me  my  three  pesetas  and  take  your  bundle." 

"Nix.  Give  us  a  duro  and  we  won't  say  a 
word." 

"Like  hell." 

"Give  us  only  two  pesetas  more." 

"Here's  one,  you  rascal." 

Vidal  seized  the  coin  that  the  ragdealer  threw  at 
him,  and,  as  none  was  sure  of  himself,  they  made 


DOLORES  237 

off  hurriedly.  When  they  reached  Dolores'  house 
in  Las  Cambroneras,  they  were  bathed  in  perspira- 
tion, exhausted. 

They  ordered  a  flask  of  wine  from  the  tavern. 

"A  rotten  bungle  we  made  of  it,  hang  it  all," 
grumbled  Vidal. 

After  the  wine  was  paid  for  there  remained 
ten  reales;  this  they  divided  among  the  three,  re- 
ceiving eighty  centimes  apiece.  Vidal  summed  up 
the  day's  work  with  the  remark  that  this  committing 
robberies  in  out-of-the-way  spots  was  all  disadvan- 
tages and  no  advantages,  for  besides  exposing  one- 
self to  the  danger  of  being  sent  to  the  penitentiary 
almost  for  life  and  getting  a  beating  and  being 
chewed  up  by  a  moral  dog,  a  fellow  ran  the  risk 
of  being  wretchedly  fooled. 


CHAPTER  V 

Gutter  Vestals — The  Troglodytes. 

O  use.  We've  got  tor  get  rid  of  that 
beastly  Bizco.  Every  time  I  see  him 
I  hate  him  more  and  he  disgusts  me 
more." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he's  a  brute.  Let  him  go  off  to  his  old 
fox,  Dolores.  You  and  I  can  go  to  the  theatre 
every  night." 

"How?" 

"With  the  claque.  We  don't  have  to  pay.  All 
we  have  to  do  is  applaud  when  we  get  the  signal." 

This  condition  seemed  to  Manuel  so  easy  to 
fulfil  that  he  asked  his  cousin: 

"But  listen.  How  is  it,  then,  that  everybody 
doesn't  go  to  the  theatre  like  that?" 

"Because  they  don't  all  know  the  head  of  the 
claque  as  I  do." 

And  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  went  to  the  Apollo. 
For  the  first  few  days  all  Manuel  could  do  was  think 
of  the  plays  and  the  actresses.  Vidal,  with  his 
superior  manner  in  all  things,  learned  the  songs 
right  away;  Manuel  secretly  envied  him. 

Between  the  acts  the  members  of  the  claque  would 
adjourn  to  a  tavern  on  Barquillo  Street,  varying 

238 


this  occasionally  with  a  visit  to  another  place  on  the 
Plaza  del  Rey.  This  latter  resort  was  the  rendez- 
vous of  the  claquers  that  worked  in  Price's  Circus. 

Almost  all  the  legion  of  applauders  were  young- 
sters; a  few  of  them  worked  in  shops  here  and 
there;  for  the  most  part  they  were  loafers  and 
organgrinders  who  wound  up  by  becoming  super- 
numeraries, chorus  men  or  ticket-speculators. 

There  were  among  them  effeminate,  clean-shaven 
types  with  a  woman's  face  and  a  shrill  voice. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  theatre  Vidal  and  Manuel 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  group  of  girls,  from 
thirteen  to  eighteen  years  of  age,  who  wandered 
about  Alcala  Street  approaching  well-to-do  pillars 
of  the  middle  class;  they  pretended  to  be  news- 
vendors  and  always  had  a  copy  of  the  Heraldo 
with  them. 

Vidal  cultivated  the  intimacy  of  the  girls;  they 
were  almost  all  homely,  but  this  did  not  interfere 
with  his  plans,  which  consisted  of  extending  the 
radius  of  his  activities  and  his  knowledge. 

"We  must  leave  the  suburbs  and  work  our  way 
toward  the  centre,"  said  Vidal. 

Vidal  wished  Manuel  to  help  him,  but  Manuel  had 
no  gift  for  it.  Vidal  came  to  be  the  cadet  for 
four  girls  who  lived  together  in  Cuatro  Caminos  and 
were  named,  respectively,  La  Mella,  La  Goya,  La 
Rabanitos  and  Engracia;  they  had  come  to  form, 
together  with  Vidal,  El  Bizco  and  Manuel  another 
Society,  though  this  one  was  anonymous. 

The  poor  girls  needed  protection;  they  were  pur- 
sued more  than  the  other  loose  women  by  the  police 


240  THEQUEST 

because  they  paid  no  graft  to  the  inspectors.  They 
would  be  forever  fleeing  from  the  guards  and  agents, 
who,  whenever  there  was  a  round-up,  would  take 
them  to  the  station  and  thence  to  the  Convento  de 
las  Trinitarias. 

The  thought  of  being  immured  in  the  convent 
struck  genuine  terror  into  their  hearts. 

"To  think   of  never   seeing   the   street,"    they 

moaned,  as  if  this  were  a  most  horrible  punishment. 

,,         And  the  abandonment  at  night  in  the  unprotected 

/]\    thoroughfares,  which  inspired  horror  in  others;  the 

cold,  the  rain,  the  snow, — were  to  them  liberty  and 

life. 

They  all  spoke  in  a  rough  manner;  their  grammar 
and  word- forms  were  incorrect;  language  in  them 
leaped  backwards  into  a  curious  atavic  regression. 

They  spiced  their  talk  with  a  long  string  of 
theatrical  lines  and  "gags." 

The  four  led  a  terrible  life;  they  spent  the  morn- 
ing and  the  afternoon  in  bed  sleeping  and  didn't  go 
to  sleep  again  till  dawn. 

"We're  like  cats,"  La  Mella  would  say.  "We 
hunt  at  night  and  sleep  by  day." 

La  Mella,  La  Goya,  La  Rabanitos  and  Engracia 
would  go  at  night  to  the  centre  of  Madrid,  accom- 
panied by  a  white-bearded  beggar  with  a  smiling 
face  and  a  striped  cap. 

The  old  man  came  to  beg  alms;  he  was  a  neigh- 
bour of  the  girls  and  they  called  him  Uncle  Tarrillo, 
bantering  him  upon  his  frequent  sprees.  He  was 
utterly  daft  and  loved  to  talk  upon  the  corruption 
of  popular  manners. 


GUTTER   VESTALS  241 

La  Mella  said  that  Uncle  Tarrillo  had  tried,  one 
night  after  they  had  returned  alone  from  the  Jar- 
dinillos  del  Deposito  de  Agua,  to  violate  her  and 
that  he  had  made  her  laugh  so  much  that  it  was  im- 
possible. 

The  mendicant  would  wax  indignant  at  the  tale 
and  would  pursue  the  indiscreet  maid  with  all  the 
ardour  of  an  old  faun. 

Of  the  four  girls  the  ugliest  was  La  Mella;  with 
her  big,  deformed  head,  her  black  eyes,  her  wide 
mouth  and  broken  teeth,  her  dumpy  figure,  she 
looked  like  the  lady-jester  of  some  ancient  princess. 
She  had  been  on  the  point  of  becoming  a  chorus- 
girl  ;  she  was  balked,  however,  for  despite  her  good 
voice  and  excellent  ear  for  music,  she  could  not 
pronounce  the  words  clearly  because  of  her  missing 
teeth. 

La  Mella  was  always  in  high  spirits,  singing  and 
laughing  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  She 
carried  in  her  apron-pocket  a  tiny  powder-puff 
with  a  mirror  on  the  inside  of  the  cover;  she 
would  stop  at  every  other  step  to  gaze  at  herself 
by  the  light  of  a  street-lantern  and  powder  her 
face. 

She  was  affectionate  and  kind-hearted.  Her  ex- 
cessive ugliness  made  Manuel  gag.  The  lass  was 
eager  to  win  him  but  Vidal  advised  his  cousin  not 
to  take  up  with  her;  La  Goya  suited  him  better,  for 
she  made  more  money. 

La  Mella  was  not  at  all  to  Manuel's  taste,  de- 
spite her  affectionate  caresses;  but  La  Goya  was 
compromised  with  El  Soldadito,  a  man  with  a  posi- 


242  THEQUEST 

tion,  as  she  said,  for  when  he  went  to  work  he 
turned  the  crank  of  an  handorgan. 

This  organ-grin.der  took  all  the  receipts  of  La 
Goya,  who,  as  the  prettiest  of  the  quartet,  enjoyed 
the  most  numerous  patronage;  El  Soldadito  watched 
her  and  when  she  went  off  with  anybody,  followed, 
waiting  for  her  to  come  out  of  the  house  of  assigna- 
tion so  that  he  could  collect  her  earnings. 

Vidal,  of  the  four,  condescended  to  choose  La 
Rabanitos  and  Engracia  as  the  objects  of  his  pro- 
tection; the  two  girls  were  forever  disputing  over 
him.  La  Rabanitos  looked  like  a  pocket-edition  of 
a  woman;  a  white  little  face  with  blue  streaks  about 
her  nose  and  her  mouth;  a  rachetic,  wizened  body; 
thin  lips  and  large  eyes  of  schlerotic  blue ;  she  dressed 
like  an  old  woman,  with  her  sombre  little  cloak 
and  her  black  dress;  such  was  La  Rabanitos.  She 
was  bothered  with  frequent  hemorrhages;  she  spoke 
with  all  the  mannerisms  of  a  granny,  making  queer 
twists  and  turns,  and  she  spent  all  her  spare  change 
on  dry  salt  tunny  fish,  caramels  and  other  dainties. 

Engracia,  Vidal's  other  favourite,  was  the  typical 
brothel  inmate:  her  face  was  white  with  rice  pow- 
der; her  dark,  flashing  eyes  had  an  expression  of 
purely  animal  melancholy;  as  she  spoke  she  showed 
her  blue  teeth,  which  contrasted  with  the  whiteness 
of  her  powdered  countenance.  She  leaped  from  joy 
to  dejection  without  transition.  She  could  not 
smile.  Her  face  was  as  soon  darkened  by  stupidity 
as  it  was  illuminated  by  a  ribald  merriment,  insult- 
ing and  cynical. 

Engracia  had  little  to  say  and  when  she  spoke 


GUTTER   VESTALS  243 

it  was  to  utter  something  particularly  bestial  and 
filthy,  of  involved  cynicism  and  pornography.  Her 
imagination  was  of  monstrous  fertility. 

A  macabrous  sculptor  might  have  hit  upon  a 
work  of  genius  by  cutting  the  thoughts  of  this 
girl  into  the  stone  representing  some  infernal  Dance 
of  Death. 

Engracia  could  not  read.  She  wore  loud  waists, 
blue  and  pink;  a  white  kerchief  on  her  head  and  a 
coloured  apron;  she  trotted  along  with  a  swaying 
movement,  so  that  the  coins  in  her  purse  kept  jin- 
gling. She  had  been  eight  years  in  this  brothel 
life,  and  was  only  sixteen  in  all.  She  was  sorry  to 
have  grown  up,  for  she  said  that  she  had  earned 
far  more  as  a  little  girl. 

The  friendship  of  Manuel  and  Vidal  with  these 
girls  lasted  a  couple  of  months;  Manuel  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  take  up  with  La  Mella ;  she  was 
too  repulsive;  Vidal  widened  the  horizons  of  his 
activity,  tippled  with  a  gang  of  chulos  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  conquest  of  a  flower-girl  who  sold 
carnations. 

Engracia  and  La  Rabanitos  conceived  a  vio- 
lent hatred  for  the  lass. 

"That  strumpet?"  La  Rabanitos  would  say. 
"Why,  she's  already  as  disreputable  as  us.  .  .  ." 

One  night  Vidal  did  not  put  in  his  usual  appear- 
ance at  Casa  Blanca,  and  two  or  three  days  later  he 
showed  up  at  the  Puerta  del  Sol  with  a  tall,  buxom 
woman  garbed  in  grey. 

"Who's  that?"  asked  Manuel  of  his  cousin. 

"Her  name's  Violeta;  I've  taken  up  with  her." 


244  THEQUEST 

"And  the  other  one,  at  Casa  Blanca?" 

Vidal  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  can  have  her  if  you  wish,"  he  said. 

Vidal's  former  sweetheart  likewise  disappeared 
from  Casa  Blanca  and,  after  he  had  been  unable 
to  collect  the  two  weeks'  rent,  the  administrator  put 
Manuel  out  into  the  street  and  sold  the  furnishings : 
a  few  empty  bottles,  a  stew-pot  and  a  bed. 

For  several  days  Manuel  slept  upon  the  benches 
of  the  Plaza  de  Oriente  and  on  the  chairs  of  La 
Castellana  and  Recoletos.  It  was  getting  toward 
the  end  of  summer  and  he  could  still  sleep  in  the 
open.  A  few  centimes  that  he  earned  by  carrying 
valises  from  the  stations  helped  him  to  exist,  though 
badly,  until  October. 

There  were  days  when  the  only  thing  he  ate  was 
the  cabbage  stalks  that  he  picked  up  in  the  market- 
places; other  days,  on  the  contrary,  he  treated  him- 
self to  seventy-eight  centimo  banquets  in  the  chop- 
houses. 

October  came  around  and  Manuel  began  to  feel 
cold  at  night;  his  eldest  sister  gave  him  a  frayed 
overcoat  and  a  muffler;  but  despite  these,  whenever 
he  could  find  no  roof  to  shelter  him  he  almost  froze 
to  death  in  the  street. 

One  night  in  the  early  part  of  November  Manuel 
stumbled  against  El  Bizco  at  the  entrance  to  a  cafe 
on  La  Cabecera  del  Rastro;  the  cross-eyed  raga- 
muffin was  bent  over,  almost  naked,  his  arms  crossed 
against  his  chest,  barefoot;  he  presented  a  painful 
picture  of  poverty  and  cold. 

Dolores  La  Escandalosa  had  left  him  for  another. 


GUTTER   VESTALS  245 

"Where  can  we  go  to  sleep?"  Manuel  asked  him. 

"Let's  try  the  caves  of  La  Montana,"  answered 
El  Bizco. 

"But  can  we  get  in  there?" 

"Yes,  if  there  aren't  too  many." 

"Come  on,  then." 

The  two  crossed  through  the  Puerta  de  Moros 
and  Mancebos  Street  to  the  Viaduct;  they  traversed 
the  Plaza  de  Oriente,  following  along  Bailen  and 
Ferraz  Streets,  and,  as  they  reached  the  Montana 
del  Principe  Pio,  ascended  a  narrow  path  bordered 
by  recently  planted  pines. 

El  Bizco  and  Manuel  went  along  in  the  dark  from 
one  side  to  the  other,  exploring  the  hollows  of 
the  mountain,  until  a  ray  of  light  issuing  from  a 
crevice  in  the  earth  betrayed  one  of  the  caves. 

They  approached  the  hole;  from  within  came 
the  interrupted  hum  of  hoarse  voices. 

By  the  flickering  light  of  a  candle  which  was  held 
in  position  on  the  ground  by  two  rocks,  more  than 
a  dozen  outcasts,  some  seated  and  some  on  their 
knees,  formed  a  knot  of  card-players.  In  the 
corners  might  be  discerned  the  hazy  outlines  of  men 
stretched  out  on  the  sand. 

A  fetid  vapour  was  exhaled  by  the  cave. 

The  flame  flickered,  illuminating  now  a  corner 
of  the  den,  now  the  pale  face  of  one  of  the  players, 
and  as  the  light  blinked,  the  shadows  of  the  men 
grew  long  or  short  on  the  sandy  walls.  From  time 
to  time  was  heard  a  curse  or  a  blasphemy. 

Manuel  thought  that  he  had  beheld  something 
like  this  before  in  one  of  his  feverish  nightmares,. 


246  THE   QUEST 

"I'm  not  going  in,"  he  said  to  El  Bizco. 

"Why?"  asked  his  companion. 

"I'd  rather  freeze." 

"As  you  please,  then.  I  know  one  of  these  fel- 
lows. He's  El  Interprete." 

"And  who  is  this  Interprete?" 

"The  captain  of  all  the  mountain  vagabonds." 

Despite  these  assurances  Manuel  hesitated. 

"Who's  there?"  came  a  voice  from  inside. 

"I,"  answered  El  Bizco. 

Manuel  dashed  off  at  full  speed.  Near  the  cave 
stood  a  group  of  two  or  three  huts,  with  a  yard  in 
the  middle,  surrounded  by  a  rough  stone  wall. 

This,  according  to  the  ironic  name  given  to  it  by 
the  ragamuffins,  was  the  Crystal  Palace,  the  nest  of 
some  low-flying  turtledoves  who  frequented  the 
Montana  barracks  and  who,  at  night,  were  joined 
by  friendly  hawks  and  gerfalcons. 

The  entrance  to  the  yard  was  closed  by  a  double- 
panelled  door. 

Manuel  examined  it  to  see  if  it  yielded,  but  it  was 
strong,  and  was  armoured  with  tins  that  were 
stretched  out  and  nailed  down  upon  mats. 

He  thought  that  nobody  could  be  there  and  tried 
to  climb  the  wall;  he  scaled  the  low  rubble  inclosure 
and  as  he  advanced,  got  caught  in  a  wire;  a  stone 
fell  noisily  from  the  wall,  a  dog  began  to  bark 
furiously,  and  a  curse  echoed  from  inside. 

Manuel,  convinced  that  the  nest  was  not  empty, 
took  to  flight.  He  sought  shelter  in  a  doorway  that 
was  somewhat  protected  from  the  rain  and  huddled 
down  to  sleep. 


GUTTER   VESTALS  247 

It  was  still  night  when  he  awoke  shivering  with 
the  cold,  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  He  started 
to  run  so  as  to  warm  himself;  he  reached  the  Paseo 
de  Resales  and  strode  up  and  down  several  times. 

It  seemed  that  the  night  would  never  end. 

The  rain  ceased;  the  sun  came  out  in  the  morning; 
Manuel  took  refuge  in  a  hollow  on  the  slope  of  the 
embankment.  The  sun  began  to  warm  him  most  de- 
liciously.  Manuel  dreamed  of  a  very  white,  exceed- 
ingly beautiful  woman  with  golden  tresses.  Frozen 
almost  to  death,  he  drew  near  the  lady,  and  she 
wrapped  him  in  her  golden  strands  and  he  nestled 
tenderly,  ever  so  tenderly  in  her  lap.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VI 

Sefior  Custodio  and  His  Establishment — The  Free  Life. 

-.  ,  .  And  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
ravishing  dreams  when  a  harsh  voice  recalled  him 
to  the  bitter,  impure  realities  of  existence. 

"What  are  you  doing  there,  loafer?"  some  one 
was  asking  him. 

"II"  mumbled  Manuel,  opening  his  eyes  and  star- 
ing at  his  questioner.     "I'm  not  doing  anything." 
"Yes,  I  can  see  that.     I  can  see  that." 
Manuel  got  up;  before  him  he  beheld  an  old  man 
with  greyish  hair  and  gloomy  mien,  with  a  sack 
across  his  shoulder  and  a  hook  in  his  hand.     The 
fellow  wore  a  fur  cap,  a  sort  of  yellowish  overcoat 
and  a  reddish  muffler  rolled  around  his  neck. 
"Have  you  a  home?"  asked  the  man. 
"No,  sir." 

"And  you  sleep  in  the  open)?" 
"Well,  as  I  haven't  any  home.  .  .  ." 
The  ragpicker  began  to  rake  over  the  ground, 
fished  up  some  objects  and  various  papers,  shoved 
them  into  the  sack  and  turning  his  gaze  again  upon 
Manuel,  added: 

"You'd  be  better  off  if  you  went  to  work." 
"If  I  had  work,  I'd  work;  but  I  haven't,  so  .  .  ." 
248 


SENORCUSTODIO  249 

and  Manuel,  wearied  of  these  useless  words,  hud- 
dled into  his  corner  to  continue  his  slumbers. 

"See  here,"  said  the  ragdealer,  "you  come  along 
with  me.  I  need  a  boy  .  .  .  I'll  feed  you." 

Manuel  looked  at  the  man  without  replying. 

"Well,  do  you  want  to  or  not?  Hurry  up  and 
decide." 

Manuel  lazily  arose.  The  rag  man,  sack  slung 
across  his  shoulder,  climbed  the  slope  of  the  embank- 
ment until  he  reached  Resales  Street,  where  he  had 
a  cart  drawn  by  two  donkeys.  The  man  told  them 
to  move  on  and  they  ambled  down  toward  the  Paseo 
de  la  Florida,  thence  through  Virgen  del  Puerto 
Avenue  to  the  Ronda  de  Segovia.  The  cart,  with 
its  license  plate  and  number,  was  a  tumbledown 
affair,  held  together  by  strips  of  brass,  and  was 
laden  with  two  or  three  sacks,  buckets  and  baskets. 

The  ragman,  Sefior  Custodio, — that  was  what  he 
gave  as  his  name, — looked  like  a  good-natured  soul. 

From  time  to  time  he  would  bend  over,  pick  up 
something  from  the  street  and  throw  it  into  the 
cart. 

Underneath  the  cart,  attached  to  it  by  a  chain, 
jogged  along  in  leisurely  fashion  a  dog  with  yellow- 
ish locks,  long  and  lustrous, — an  amiable  creature 
who  appeared  to  Manuel  as  good  a  canine  as  his 
master  was  a  human  being. 

Between  the  Segovia  and  Toledo  bridges,  not  far 
from  the  head  of  Imperial  Avenue,  there  opens  a 
dark  depression  with  a  cluster  of  two  or  three 
squalid,  wretched  huts.  It  is  a  quadrangular  ditch, 


250  THEQUEST 

blackened  by  smoke  and  coal  dust,  hemmed  in  by 
crumbling  walls  and  heaps  of  rubbish. 

As  he  reached  the  edge  of  this  depression,  the  rag- 
dealer  stopped  and  pointed  out  to  Manuel  a  hovel 
standing  next  to  a  broken-down  merry-go-round  and 
some  swings,  saying: 

"That's  my  house;  take  the  cart  down  there  and 
unload  it.  Can  you  do  that?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Are  you  hungry?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Then  tell  my  wife  to  give  you  a 
bite." 

Manuel  accompanied  the  cart  into  the  hollow  over 
an  embankment  of  rubbish.  The  ragdealer's  house 
was  the  largest  in  the  vjcinity  and  had  a  yard  as  well 
as  an  adjoining  shed. 

Manuel  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  hut;  an 
old  woman  came  out  to  meet  him. 

"What  do  you  want,  kid?"  she  asked.  "Who 
sent  you  here?" 

"Senor  Custodio.  He  told  me  to  ask  you  where  to 
put  the  stuff  that's  in  the  cart." 

The  woman  pointed  out  the  shed. 

"He  told  me  also,"  added  the  boy,  "to  say  that 
you  should  give  me  something  to  eat." 

"I  know  you,  you  foxy  creature,"  mumbled  the 
old  woman.  And  after  grumbling  for  a  long  time 
and  waiting  for  Manuel  to  dump  out  the  contents 
of  the  cart,  she  gave  him  a  slice  of  bread  and  a  piece 
of  cheese. 

The  woman  unharnessed  the  two  mules  and  re- 


SENORCUSTODIO  251 

leased  the  dog,  who  began  to  bark  and  play  with 
contentment;  he  snapped  playfully  at  the  mules,  one 
black  and  the  other  a  silvery  grey,  who  turned  their 
eyes  upon  him  and  showed  their  teeth;  desperately 
he  gave  chase  to  a  white  cat  with  a  tail  that  bristled 
like  a  feather-duster,  then  approached  Manuel,  who, 
seated  in  the  sun,  was  nibbling  at  his  bit  of  cheese  and 
his  slice  of  bread,  waiting  for  something.  They 
both  had  lunch. 

Manuel  walked  around  the  dwelling  and  looked  it 
over.  One  of  its  narrow  sides  was  composed  of  two 
bathing-houses. 

These  two  bathing-houses  were  not  joined,  but 
left  between  them  a  space  filled  in  by  a  rusty  iron 
door  such  as  is  used  to  fasten  shops. 

The  two  longer  walls  of  the  ragdealer's  hovel 
were  formed  of  stakes  paid  with  pitch,  and  the  wall 
opposite  to  that  built  of  the  bathing-houses  was  con- 
structed of  thick,  irregular  rocks  and  curved  out- 
ward with  a  swelling  like  that  of  a  church  presbytery. 
Within,  this  curve  corresponded  to  a  hollow  in  the 
manner  of  a  wide  vaulted  niche  occupied  by  the 
hearth. 

The  house,  despite  its  tiny  size,  had  no  uniform 
system  of  roofing;  in  some  spots  tiles  were  sub- 
stituted by  strips  of  tin  with  heavy  rocks  holding 
them  in  place  and  the  interstices  chinked  with  straw; 
in  others,  the  slate  was  mortared  together  with  mud; 
in  still  others,  sheets  of  zinc  provided  protection. 

The  construction  of  the  house  betrayed  each  phase 
of  its  growth.  As  the  shell  of  the  tortoise  augments 
with  the  development  of  the  reptile,  so  did  the  rag- 


252  THEQUEST 

dealer's  hovel  little  by  little  increase.  At  first  it 
must  have  been  a  place  for  only  one  person,  some- 
thing like  a  shepherd's  hut;  then  it  widened,  grew 
longer,  divided  into  rooms,  afterwards  adding  its 
annexes,  its  shed  and  its  yard. 

Before  the  door  to  the  dwelling,  on  a  flat  stretch 
of  tamped  earth,  stood  a  carrousel  surrounded  by  a 
low,  octagonal  impalement;  the  stakes,  decayed  by 
the  action  of  moisture  and  heat,  still  showed  a 
vestige  of  their  original  blue  paint. 

Those  poor  merry-go-round  steeds,  painted  red, 
offered  to  the  gaze  of  the  indifferent  spectator  the 
most  comical,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  pathetic 
sight.  One  of  the  coursers  was  of  indeterminate 
hue;  the  other  must  have  forgotten  his  paws  in  his 
mad  race;  one  of  them,  in  a  most  elegantly  uncom- 
fortable pose,  symbolized  humble  sadness  and  honest, 
refined  modesty. 

At  the  side  of  the  merry-go-round  rose  a  frame 
formed  of  two  tripods  upon  which  rested  a  beam, 
whose  hooks  served  as  the  support  of  swings. 

The  black  ditch  harboured  three  other  hovels, 
all  three  constructed  of  tins,  rubbish,  planks,  ruins 
and  other  similar  building  materials.  One  of  the 
shacks,  owing  either  to  old  age  or  deficient  architec- 
ture, threatened  to  collapse,  and  the  owner,  no  doubt, 
had  sought  to  prevent  its  fall  by  sinking  a  row  of 
stakes  along  one  of  the  walls,  against  which  it  leaned 
like  a  lame  man  upon  his  crutch;  another  house 
flaunted  like  a  flagstaff  a  long  stick  on  its  roof  with 
a  pot  stuck  on  the  top.  .  .  . 

After  eating  Manuel  informed  the  old  woman 


SENORCUSTODIO  253 

that  Sefior  Custodio  had  told  him  he  might  remain 
there. 

"Tell  me  whether  there's  anything  else  for  me  to 
do,"  he  concluded. 

UA11  right.  Stay  here.  Take  care  of  the  fire. 
If  the  pot  boils,  let  it;  if  it  doesn't,  throw  a  bit  of 
coal  into  the  flames.  Reverte !  Reverte  I"  shouted 
the  woman  to  the  dog.  "Let  him  remain  here." 

She  went  off  and  Manuel  was  left  alone  with  the 
dog.  The  stew  boiled  merrily.  Manuel,  followed 
by  Reverte,  made  an  inspection  tour  of  the  house. 
It  was  divided  into  three  compartments:  a  tiny 
kitchen  and  a  large  room  into  which  the  light  entered 
through  two  high,  small  windows. 

In  this  room  or  store-room,  on  all  sides,  from  the 
walls  and  from  the  ceiling,  hung  old  wares  of  vari- 
ous hue,  white  clothes,  red  boinas  and  Catalonian 
caps,  strips  of  crape  cloaks.  On  the  shelves  and  on 
the  floor,  separated  according  to  class  and  size,  were 
flasks,  bottles,  jars,  canisters,  a  veritable  army  of 
glass  and  porcelain  pots;  the  ranks  were  broken  by 
those  huge,  green,  dropsical  pharmacy  bottles,  and 
several  heavy-paunched  demi-johns;  then  came  half- 
gallon  bottles,  tall  and  dark;  straw-covered  vases; 
this  was  followed  by  the  section  devoted  to  medicinal 
waters,  the  most  varied  and  numerous  of  all,  for 
it  included  Seltzer-water  siphons,  oxygenized-water 
siphons,  bottles  of  gaseous  water,  Vichy,  Mondariz, 
Carabana;  after  this  came  the  small  fry,  the  per- 
fume phials,  the  pots,  the  cold-cream  jars,  the  cos- 
metic receptacles. 

In  addition  to  this  department  of  bottles  there 


254  THE   QUEST 

were  others:  canned-goods  tins  and  pans  ranged  on 
shelves;  buttons  and  keys  kept  in  chests;  remnants, 
ribbons  and  laces  rolled  around  spools  or  cardboard. 

All  this  struck  Manuel  as  quite  pleasant.  Every- 
thing was  in  its  proper  place,  relatively  spick  and 
span;  the  hand  of  a  methodical,  neat  person  was  in 
evidence. 

In  the  kitchen,  which  was  kalsomined,  shone  the 
few  scullery  utensils.  On  the  hearth,  above  the 
white  ashes,  an  earthenware  stew-pot  was  boiling 
away  with  a  gentle  purring. 

From  outside  there  scarcely  came  the  distant 
noises  of  the  city,  which  filtered  in  like  a  pale  sound; 
it  was  as  quiet  as  in  a  remote  hamlet;  now  and  then 
a  dog  would  bark,  some  cart  would  creak  as  it 
bumped  along  the  road,  then  silence  would  be 
restored  and  in  the  kitchen  nothing  would  be  heard 
save  the  glu  glu  of  the  pot,  like  a  soft,  confidential 
murmur.  .  .  . 

Manuel  cast  a  look  of  satisfaction  through  the 
chink  of  the  door  to  the  dark  ditch  outside.  In  the 
corral  the  hens  were  scratching  the  earth;  a  hog  was 
rooting  about,  running  in  fright  from  one  side  to 
the  other,  grunting  and  quivering  with  nervous 
tremours;  Reverte  was  yawning,  blinking  gravely, 
and  one  of  the  donkeys  was  wallowing  delightedly 
amidst  broken  pots,  decayed  baskets  and  heaps  of 
refuse,  while  the  other,  as  if  scandalized  by  such  un- 
refined comportment,  contemplated  him  with  the  ut- 
most surprise. 

All  this  black  earth  filled  Manuel  with  an  impres- 
sion of  ugliness,  yet  at  the  same  time  with  a  sense  of 


SENORCUSTODIO  255 

tranquillity  and  shelter;  it  seemed  a  proper  setting 
for  him.  This  soil  formed  the  daily  deposits  of  the 
dumping-place ;  this  earth,  whose  sole  products  were 
old  sardine-cans,  oyster  shells,  broken  combs  and 
shattered  pots;  this  earth,  black  and  barren,  com- 
posed of  the  detritus  of  civilization,  of  bits  of  lime 
and  mortar  and  factory  refuse,  of  all  that  the  city 
had  cast  off  as  useless,  seemed  to  Manuel  a  place  s 
made  especially  for  him,  for  he  himself  was  a  bit  of 
the  flotsam  and  jetsam  likewise  cast  adrift  by  the  life 
of  the  city. 

Manuel  had  seen  no  other  fields  than  the  sad, 
rocky  meadows  of  Soria  and  the  still  sadder  ones  of 
the  Madrilenian  suburbs.  He  did  not  suspect  that 
in  spots  uncultivated  by  man  there  were  green 
meadows,  leafy  woods,  beds  of  flowers;  he  thought 
that  trees  and  flowers  were  born  only  in  the  gar- 
dens of  the  rich.  .  .  . 

Manuel's  first  days  in  Sefior  Custodio's  house 
seemed  too  burdened;  but  as  there  is  plenty  of  free 
roaming  in  the  ragdealer's  life,  he  soon  grew  accus- 
tomed to  it. 

Sefior  Custodio  arose  when  it  was  still  night,  woke 
Manuel,  and  they  both  harnessed  the  two  donkeys 
to  the  cart  and  took  the  direction  to  Madrid,  on 
their  daily  hunt  for  the  old  boot  and  the  discarded 
tatter.  Sometimes  they  went  by  way  of  Melancol- 
icos  Avenue;  others,  by  the  Rondas  or  through 
Segovia  Street. 

Winter  was  coming  on;  at  the  hour  when  they 
sallied  forth  Madrid  was  in  complete  darkness. 
The  ragdealer  had  his  fixed  itinerary  and  his  schedule 


256  THE   QUEST 

of  call  stations.  When  he  went  by  way  of  the 
Rondas  and  drove  up  Toledo  Street,  which  was 
his  most  frequent  route,  he  would  halt  at  the  Plaza 
de  la  Cebada  and  the  Puerta  de  Moros,  fill  his 
hamper  with  vegetables  and  continue  toward  the 
heart  of  the  cty. 

On  other  days  he  travelled  through  Melancolicos 
Avenue  to  the  Virgen  del  Puerto,  from  here  to  La 
Florida,  then  to  Resales  Street,  where  he  rummaged 
in  the  rubbish  deposited  by  the  tip-carts,  continuing 
to  the  Plaza  de  San  Marcial  and  arriving  at  the 
Plaza  de  los  Mostenses. 

On  the  way  Sefior  Custodio  let  nothing  escape  his 
eye;  he  would  examine  it  and  keep  it  if  it  were  worth 
the  trouble.  The  leaves  of  vegetables  went  into  the 
hampers;  rags,  paper  and  bones  went  into  the  sacks; 
the  half-burned  coke  and  coal  found  a  place  in  a 
bucket  and  dung  was  thrown  into  the  back  of  the 
cart. 

Manuel  and  the  ragdealer  returned  early  in  the 
morning;  they  unloaded  the  cart  on  the  flat  earth  be- 
fore the  door,  and  husband,  wife  and  the  boy  would 
separate  and  classify  the  day's  collection.  The  rag- 
dealer  and  his  wife  were  amazingly  skilful  and  quick 
at  this  work. 

On  rainy  days  the  assorting  was  done  in  the  shed. 
During  such  weather  the  depression  became  a  dismal, 
repellant  swamp,  and  in  order  to  cross  it  one  had  to 
sink  into  the  mud,  in  places  half  way  up  to  the  knee. 
Everything  would  drip  water;  the  hog  in  the  yard 
would  wallow  in  mire;  the  hens  would  appear  with 


SENOR   CUSTODIO  257 

their  wings  all  black  and  the  dog  scampered  about 
coated  with  mud  to  the  ears. 

After  the  sorting  of  the  collection,  Senor  Custodio 
and  Manuel,  each  with  a  basket,  would  wait  for  the 
dump-carts  to  arrive,  and  as  the  refuse  was  tipped 
out,  they  would  set  about  sorting  it  on  the  very  dump- 
ing-grounds: pasteboard,  rags,  glass  and  bones. 

In  the  afternoon  Senor  Custodio  would  go  to  cer- 
tain stables  in  the  Argiielles  district  to  clean  out  the 
manure  and  take  it  to  the  orchards  on  the  Manzan- 
ares. 

Between  one  thing  and  another  Senor  Custodio 
made  enough  to  live  in  a  certain  comfort;  he  had  a 
firm  grasp  upon  his  business  and  as  he  was  under  no 
compulsion  to  sell  his  wares  promptly,  he  would 
wait  for  the  most  opportune  occasion  so  that  he 
could  sell  with  advantage. 

The  paper  that  he  thus  stored  up  was  purchased 
by  the  pasteboard  factories;  they  gave  him  from 
thirty  or  forty  centimes  per  arroba.  The  manufac- 
turers required  the  paper  to  be  perfectly  dry,  and 
Senor  Custodio  dried  it  in  the  sun.  As  they  tried  at 
times  to  get  the  best  of  him  in  weight,  he  used  to 
place  in  each  sack  two  or  three  full  arrobas,  weighed 
with  a  steelyard;  on  the  cloth  of  the  sack  he  would 
inscribe  a  number  in  ink,  indicating  the  amount  of 
arrobas  it  contained,  and  these  sacks  he  held  in  a 
sort  of  cellar  or  ship's  hold  that  he  had  dug  into  the 
ground  of  the  shed. 

When  there  was  a  great  quantity  of  paper  he  sold 
it  to  a  pasteboard  factory  on  Acacias  Avenue.  Senor 


258  THEQUEST 

Custodio's  journey  was  not  in  Vain,  for  in  addition 
to  selling  the  goods  at  a  fancy  price,  he  would,  on  the 
way  back,  drive  his  cart  in  the  direction  of  a  pitch 
factory  of  the  vicinity,  and  there  he  picked  up  from 
the  ground  a  very  fine  coal  that  burned  excellently 
and  gave  as  much  heat  as  slag. 

He  sold  the  bottles  to  wine  houses,  to  liquor  and 
beer  distilleries;  the  medicine  flasks  he  disposed  of  to 
pharmacists;  the  bones  went  to  the  refineries  and  the 
rags  to  the  paper  factories. 

The  bread  leavings,  vegetable  leaves  and  fruit 
cores  were  reserved  for  the  feed  of  the  pigs  and 
hens,  and  what  was  of  no  use  at  all  was  cast  into  the 
rotting-place,  converted  into  manure  and  sold  to  the 
orchards  near  the  river. 

On  the  first  Sunday  that  Manuel  spent  there, 
Senor  Custodio  and  his  wife  took  the  afternoon  off. 
For  many  a  day  they  had  never  gone  out  together 
because  they  were  afraid  to  leave  the  house  alone ; 
this  day  they  dressed  up  in  their  best  and  went  on  a 
visit  to  their  daughter,  who  worked  as  a  modiste  in 
a  relative's  shop. 

Manuel  was  glad  to  be  left  by  himself  with 
Reverte,  contemplating  the  house,  the  yard,  the 
ditch;  he  turned  the  carrousel  round  and  it  creaked 
ill-humouredly;  he  climbed  up  the  swing  frame, 
looked  down  at  the  hens,  teased  the  pig  a  little  and 
then  ran  up  and  down  with  the  dog  chasing  after  him 
barking  merrily  in  feigned  fury. 

This  dark  depression  attracted  Manuel  somehow 
or  other,  with  its  rubbish  heaps,  its  gloomy  hovels, 
its  comical,  dismantled  merry-go-round,  its  swings, 


SENOR   CUSTODIO  259 

and  its  ground  that  held  so  many  surprises,  for  a 
rough,  ordinary  pot  burgeoned  from  its  depths  as 
easily  as  a  lady's  elegant  perfume  phial;  the  rubber 
bulb  of  a  prosaic  syringe  grew  side  by  side  with  the 
satin,  scented  sheet  of  a  love  letter. 

This  rough,  humble  life,  sustained  by  the  detritus 
of  a  refined,  vicious  existence;  this  almost  savage 
career  in  the  suburbs  of  a  metropolis,  filled  Manuel 
with  enthusiasm.  It  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  stuff 
cast  aside  in  scorn  by  the  capital, — the  ordure  and 
broken  tubs,  the  old  flower-pots  and  toothless  combs, 
buttons  and  sardine  tins, — all  the  rubbish  thrown 
aside  and  spurned  by  the  city,  was  dignified  and  puri- 
fied by  contact  with  the  soil. 

Manuel  thought  that  if  in  time  he  should  become 
the  owner  of  a  little  house  like  Sefior  Custodio's, 
and  of  a  cart  and  donkeys,  and  hens  and  a  dog, 
and  find  in  addition  a  woman  to  love  him,  he  would 
be  one  of  the  almost  happy  men  in  this  world. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Senor  Custodio's  Ideas — La  Justa,  El  Carnicerin,  and  El 
Conejo. 

SENOR  Custodio  was  an  intelligent  fellow  of 
natural  gifts,  very  observant  and  quick  to  take 
advantage  of  a  situation.  He  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  yet  made  notes  and  kept  accounts; 
with  crosses  and  scratches  of  his  own  invention  he 
devised  a  substitute  for  writing,  at  least  for  the  pur- 
poses of  his  own  business. 

Senor  Custodio  was  exceedingly  eager  for  knowl- 
edge, and  if  it  weren't  that  the  notion  struck  him  as 
ridiculous,  he  would  have  set  about  learning  how  to 
read  and  write.  In  the  afternoon,  work  done,  he 
would  ask  Manuel  to  read  the  newspapers  and  the 
illustrated  reviews  that  he  picked  up  on  the  streets, 
and  the  ragdealer  and  his  wife  listened  with  the 
utmost  attention. 

Senor  Custodio  had,  too,  several  volumes  of 
novels  in  serial  form  that  had  been  left  behind  by  his 
daughter,  and  Manuel  began  to  read  them  aloud. 

The  comment  of  the  ragdealer,  who  took  this 
fiction  for  historic  truth,  was  always  perspicacious 
and  just,  revelatory  of  an  instinct  for  reasoning  and 
common  sense.  The  man's  realistic  criticism  was 
not  always  to  Manuel's  taste,  and  at  times  the  boy 

260 


CUSTODIO'S    IDEAS          261 

would  make  bold  to  defend  a  romantic,  immoral 
thesis.  Senor  Custodio,  however,  would  at  once  cut 
him  short,  refusing  to  let  him  continue. 

For  professional  reasons  the  ragdealer  was  much 
preoccupied  with  thought  of  the  manure  that  went 
to  waste  in  Madrid.  He  would  say  to  Manuel : 

"Can  you  imagine  how  much  money  all  the  refuse 
that  comes  from  Madrid  is  worth?" 

"No." 

"Then  figure  it  out.  At  seventy  centimes  per  /y 
arroba,  the  millions  of  arrobas  that  it  must  amount 
to  in  a  year.  .  .  .  Spread  this  over  the  suburbs  and 
have  the  waters  of  the  Manzanares  and  the  Lozoya 
irrigating  all  these  lands,  and  you'd  see  a  world  of 
gardens  and  orchards  everywhere." 

Another  of  the  fellow's  fixed  ideas  was  that  of 
reclaiming  used  material.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
lime  and  sand  could  be  extracted  from  mortar  refuse, 
live  plaster  from  old,  dead  plaster,  and  he  imagined 
that  this  reclamation  would  yield  a  huge  sum  of 
money. 

Senor  Custodio,  who  had  been  born  near  the  very 
depression  in  which  his  house  was  situated,  felt  for 
his  particular  district,  and  for  Madrid  in  general,  a 
deep  enthusiasm;  the  Manzanares,  to  him,  was  as 
considerable  a  river  as  the  Amazon. 

Senor  Custodio  had  two  children,  of  whom 
Manuel  knew  only  Juan,  a  tall,  swarthy  sport  who 
was  married  to  the  daughter  of  a  laundry  pro- 
prietress in  La  Bombilla.  The  ragdealer's  daughter, 
Justa  by  name,  was  a  modiste  in  a  shop. 

During  the  first  few  weeks  neither  of  the  children 


262  THEQUEST 

came  to  their  parents'  home.  Juan  lived  in  the 
laundry  and  Justa  with  a  relative  of  hers  who  owned 
a  workshop. 

Manuel,  who  spent  many  hours  in  conversation 
with  Senor  Custodio,  noted  very  soon  that  the  rag- 
dealer,  though  fully  aware  of  his  very  humble  con- 
dition, was  a  man  of  extraordinary  pride  and  that 
as  regarded  honour  and  virtue  he  had  the  ideas  of 
a  mediaeval  nobleman. 

One  Sunday,  after  he  had  been  living  there  a 
month  Manuel  had  finished  his  meal  and  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door  when  he  saw  a  girl  with  her  skirts 
gathered  come  running  down  the  slope  of  the  dump- 
ing-ground. As  she  approached  and  he  got  a  close 
look  at  her,  Manuel  went  red  and  then  blanched. 
It  was  the  lass  that  had  come  two  or  three  times  to 
the  lodging-house  to  fit  the  Baroness's  dresses;  but 
she  had  since  then  grown  to  womanhood. 

She  drew  near,  raising  her  skirt  and  her  starched 
petticoats,  careful  not  to  soil  her  patent-leather 
slippers. 

"What  can  she  be  coming  here  for?"  Manuel 
asked  himself. 

"Is  father  in?"  she  inquired. 

Senor  Custodio  came  out  and  embraced  her.  She 
was  the  ragdealer's  daughter  of  whom  Manuel  was 
forever  hearing  and  whom,  without  knowing  just 
why,  he  had  imagined  as  a  very  thin,  emaciated,  dis- 
agreeable creature. 

Justa  walked  into  the  kitchen  and  after  looking 
over  the  chairs,  to  see  whether  there  was  anything 
on  them  that  might  soil  her  clothes,  she  sat  down 


CUSTODIO'S   IDEAS         263 

upon  one  of  them.  She  began  to  pour  forth  a  flood 
of  unceasing  chatter  and  roared  at  her  own  jokes. 

Manuel  listened  without  a  word;  to  tell  the  truth 
she  wasn't  quite  so  good-looking  as  he  had  imagined, 
but  she  didn't  please  him  any  the  less  for  that.  She 
might  be  about  eighteen,  was  brunette,  rather  short, 
with  very  dark,  flashing  eyes,  a  tilted,  pert  nose,  a 
sensual  mouth  and  thick  lips.  She  was,  too,  a  bit 
full  behind  and  in  the  breasts  and  the  hips;  she  was 
neat,  fresh,  with  a  very  high  top-knot  and  a  pair  of 
brand-new,  polished  slippers. 

As  Justa  gabbled  on,  to  the  ecstasy  of  her  parents, 
there  came  into  the  kitchen  a  hump-backed  fellow 
from  one  of  the  neighbouring  hovels ;  he  was  called 
El  Conejo  (the  rabbit)  and  his  face  really  showed  a 
great  resemblance  to  the  amiable  rodent  whose 
name  he  bore. 

El  Conejo  was  a  member  of  Senor  Custodio's 
fraternity  and  knew  Justa  since  she  had  been  a  child; 
Manuel  used  to  see  him  every  day,  but  never  paid 
any  attention  to  him. 

The  Rabbit  walked  into  Sefior  Custodio's  and 
began  to  talk  nonsense,  laughing  in  violent  outbursts, 
but  in  so  mechanical  a  manner  that  it  provoked  his 
hearers,  for  it  seemed  that  behind  this  continuous 
laughter  lay  a  very  deep  bitterness.  Justa  touched 
his  hump,  for,  as  is  known,  this  brings  good  luck, 
whereupon  El  Conejo  exploded  with  merriment. 

"Have  you  been  lugged  up  again  before  the 
chief?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.     Often  .  .  .  hee-hee  .  .  ." 

"What  for?" 


264  THEQUEST 

"Because  the  other  day  I  started  to  shout  In  the 
street:  'Bargains!  Who'll  buy  Sagasta's  um- 
brella, Kruger's  hat,  the  Pope's  urinal,  a  syringe 
lost  by  a  nun  while  she  was  talking  with  the 
sacristan!  .  .  .  ' 

El  Conejo  trumpeted  this  at  the  top  of  his  lungs 
and  Justa  held  her  sides  with  laughter. 

"And  don't  you  sing  mass  any  more  the  way  you 
used  to?" 

"Oh,  sure." 

"Let's  hear  it,  then." 

The  humpback  had  taken  for  his  scandalous 
parody,  the  Preface  of  the  Mass,  and  for  the  sacred 
words  he  substituted  others  with  which  he  announced 
his  business.  He  began  to  bellow: 

"Who  will  sell  me  any  .  .  .  slippers  .  .  .  pants 
.  .  .  hempen  sandals  .  .  .  old  shoes  .  .  .  second- 
hand clothes  .  .  .  syringes  .  .  .  urinals  and  even 
chemises." 

The  hunchback's  cries  made  Justa  laugh  nervously. 
El  Conejo,  after  repeating  the  Preface  several  times 
took  up  the  melody  of  the  rogations  and  sang  some 
strains  in  a  high  soprano,  others  in  a  basso  pro- 
fundo : 

"The  high  silk-hat"  .  .  .  and  instead  of  saying 
Liberanos  domine,  he  went  on:  "I'll  buy  for  spot 
cash.  .  .  .  Your  old  vest  .  .  .  will  fetch  a  five- 
peseta  piece.  .  .  ." 

Then  he  had  to  stop  to  let  Justa  laugh. 

She  was  not  slow  in  perceiving  that  she  had  at- 
tracted Manuel,  and  despite  the  fact  that  he  seemed 
no  great  conquest  to  her,  she  became  serious,  egged 


CUSTODIO'S   IDEAS          265 

him  on  and  glanced  at  him  furtively  with  looks  that 
sent  the  boy's  blood  pounding  faster. 

After  the  ragdealer's  daughter  had  left,  Manuel 
felt  as  if  he  had  been  abandoned  to  darkness.  He 
thought  that  he  could  live  for  two  or  three  weeks  on 
her  incendiary  glances  alone. 

The  next  day,  when  Manuel  met  El  Conejo  he 
listened  to  the  nonsense  that  the  hunchback  spoke, 
with  his  eternal  harping  on  the  Bishop  of  Madrid- 
Alcala,  and  then  tried  to  shift  the  conversation  to- 
ward the  topic  of  Senor  Custodio  and  his  family. 

"Justa's  a  pretty  girl,  isn't  she?" 

"Psch  .  .  .  yes,"  and  El  Conejo  looked  at  Man- 
uel with  the  reserved  mien  of  a  person  concealing 
a  mystery. 

"YouVe  known  her  since  she  was  a  kid,  haven't 
you?" 

"Yes.  But  I've  known  plenty  of  other  girls, 
too." 

"Has  she  a  sweetheart?" 

"She  must  have.  Every  woman  has  a  sweetheart 
unless  she's  mighty  ugly." 

"And  who  is  Justa's  fellow?" 

"Anyone;  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  were  the 
•Bishop  of  Madrid-Alcala." 

El  Conejo  was  a  very  intelligent  looking  person; 
he  had  a  long  face,  a  curved  nose,  a  broad  forehead, 
tiny,  sparkling  eyes  and  a  reddish  beard  that  ta- 
pered to  a  point,  like  a  goat's. 

A  peculiar  tic,  a  convulsive  twitch  of  the  nose, 
would  agitate  his  face  from  time  to  time,  and  it  was 
this  that  completed  his  resemblance  to  a  rabbit.  His 


266  THEQUEST 

merriment  was  just  as  likely  to  find  issue  in  a  nerv- 
ous, metallic,  sonorous  outburst  as  in  a  muffled, 
clownish  guffaw.  He  would  stare  at  people  from 
top  to  bottom  and  from  bottom  to  top  in  a  manner 
all  the  more  insolent  for  its  jesting  character,  and 
to  add  to  the  mockery  he  would  detain  his  gaze 
upon  his  interlocutor's  buttons,  and  his  eyes  would 
dance  from  the  cravat  to  the  trousers  and  from  the 
boots  to  the  hat.  He  took  special  care  to  dress  in 
the  most  ridiculous  fashion  and  he  liked  to  adorn 
his  cap  with  bright  cock  feathers,  strut  about  in  rid- 
ing boots  and  commit  similar  follies. 

He  was  fond,  too,  of  confusing  folks  with  his 
lies,  and  so  firmly  did  he  state  the  tales  of  his  own 
invention  that  it  was  hard  to  tell  whether  he  was 
fooling  or  speaking  in  all  seriousness. 

"Haven't  you  heard  what  happened  this  after- 
noon to  the  Bishop  of  Madrid-Alcala  over  at  Las 
Cambroneras  ?"  he  would  say  to  some  acquaintance. 

"Why,  no." 

"Sure.  He  was  on  a  visit  bringing  alms  to  Gar- 
ibaldi and  Garibaldi  gave  the  Bishop  a  cup  of  choc- 
olate. The  Bishop  sat  down,  took  a  sip,  when 
zip!  .  .  .  Nobody  knows  just  what  happened;  he 
dropped  dead." 

"Why,  man!  .  .  ." 

"It's  the  Republicans  that  are  behind  it  all,"  af- 
firmed El  Conejo  in  his  most  serious  manner,  and  he 
would  be  off  to  another  place  to  spread  the  news  or 
perpetrate  another  hoax.  He  would  join  a  group. 

"Have  you  heard  what  happened  to  Weyler?" 

"No.     What  was  it?" 


CUSTODIO'S   IDEAS 

"Oh,  nothing.  On  his  return  from  camp  some 
flies  attacked  his  face  and  ate  up  a  whole  ear.  He 
went  across  Segovia  bridge  bleeding  terribly." 

This  was  how  the  buffoon  managed  to  enjoy  him- 
self. 

Mornings  he  would  sling  his  sack  over  his  shoul- 
der and  proceed  to  the  centre  of  Madrid  where  he 
shouted  his  business  through  the  thoroughfares, 
mingling  his  cries  with  the  names  of  political  lead- 
ers and  famous  men, — a  habit  that  had  won  him 
more  than  once  the  honour  of  appearing  before  the 
police-chief's  desk. 

El  Conejo  was  as  perverse  and  malevolent  as  a 
demon;  any  maiden  in  the  vicinity  that  was  going 
around  with  a  secret  bundle  might  well  tremble  lest 
he  surprise  her.  He  knew  everything,  he  scented 
it  out;  apparently,  however,  he  took  no  mean  ad- 
vantage of  his  discoveries.  He  was  content  to 
scare  folks  out  of  their  wits. 

"El  Conejo  must  know,"  was  the  regular  response 
when  anything  was  suspected. 

"I  don't  know  a  thing;  I've  seen  nothing,"  he 
would  answer,  laughing.  "I  don't  know  anything." 
And  that  was  all  anybody  could  get  out  of  him. 

As  Manuel  got  to  know  El  Conejo  better  he  felt 
for  him,  if  not  esteem,  at  least  a  certain  respect  be- 
cause of  his  intelligence. 

This  ragman  jester  was  so  cunning  that  often  he 
deceived  his  colleagues  of  El  Rastro,  who  were  far 
from  being  a  set  of  fools. 

Almost  every  morning  the  ragdealers  would  for- 
gather at  the  head  of  El  Rastro,  to  exchange  impres- 


268  THEQUEST 

sions  and  used  articles.  El  Conejo  would  learn  be- 
forehand just  what  was  needed  by  the  stand  mer- 
chants, and  he  would  buy  the  articles  of  the  rag  men, 
selling  them  in  turn  to  the  merchants;  between  this 
bartering  and  selling  he  always  came  out  the 
gainer.  .  .  . 

During  the  Sundays  that  followed,  Justa  amused 
herself  by  working  upon  Manuel's  feelings.  The 
girl  was  absolutely  free  in  her  talk  and  had  a 
thorough,  finished  knowledge  of  all  the  Madrilcn- 
ian  phrases  and  wiles. 

At  first  Manuel  acted  very  respectfully;  but  see- 
ing that  she  took  no  offence  he  grew  gradually  more 
daring  and  ventured  so  far  as  to  steal  embraces. 
Justa  easily  freed  herself  and  would  laugh  at  sight 
of  the  fellow's  serious  countenance  and  his  glance 
ablaze  with  desire. 

With  the  licentious  manner  that  characterized 
her,  Justa  would  carry  on  scabrous  conversations, 
telling  Manuel  what  men  said  to  her  on  the  street 
and  the  proposals  that  they  whispered  into  her  ears; 
she  spoke  with  especial  delight  of  shopmates  who 
had  lost  their  virginal  bloom  in  La  Bombilla  or  Las 
Ventas  with  some  Don  Juan  of  the  counter  who 
spent  his  days  twirling  his  mustache  before  the  mir- 
ror of  a  perfumery  or  silk  shop. 

Justa's  words  were  always  freighted  with  a  double 
meaning  and  were,  at  times,  burning  allusions.  Her 
mischievous  manner,  her  flaunting,  unbridled  coque- 
try, scattered  about  her  an  atmosphere  of  lust. 

Manuel  felt  a  painful  eagerness  to  possess  her, 


CUSTODIO'S   IDEAS         269 

mingled  with  a  great  sa.dness  and  even  hatred,  when 
he  saw  that  Justa  was  making  sport  of  him. 

Many  a  time  when  he  saw  her  come  Manuel 
vowed  to  himself  not  to  speak  a  word  to  her,  not  to 
look  at  her  or  say  anything;  then  she  would  hunt 
him  out  and  tease  him  by  beckoning  to  him  and 
touching  his  foot. 

Justa's  temper  was  disconcertingly  uneven. 
Sometimes  when  Manuel  clasped  her  about  the 
waist  and  sat  her  down  on  his  .knees,  she  would  let 
him  squeeze  her  and  kiss  her  all  he  pleased;  at 
others,  however,  simply  because  he  had  drawn  near 
and  taken  her  by  the  hand,  she  would  give  him  such 
a  hard  slap  that  his  senses  whirled. 

"And  come  back  for  more,"  she  would  add, 
icemingly  indignant. 

Manuel  would  feel  like  crying  with  anger  and 
rage,  and  would  have  to  contain  himself  lest  he  blurt 
out,  with  childish  logic:  "Why  did  you  let  me  kiss 
you  the  other  afternoon?"  But  at  once  he  saw  how 
ridiculous  such  a  question  would  seem. 

Justa  got  to  feel  a  certain  liking  for  Manuel,  but 
it  was  a  sisterly,  a  friendly  affection;  he  never  ap- 
pealed to  her  seriously  as  a  sweetheart  or  a  suitor. 

This  flirtation,  which  to  Justa  was  a  mere  sham 
of  love,  constituted  for  Manuel  a  painful  awaken- 
ing from  puberty.  He  had  dizzy  attacks  of  pas- 
sionate desire  which  left  him  mortally  weak  and 
crushed.  Then  he  would  stride  along  hurriedly 
with  the  irregular  gait  of  one  suffering  from  loco- 
motor  ataxia;  many  a  time,  crossing  the  pine  grove 


270  THEQUEST 

of  the  Canal,  he  was  seized  with  an  impulse  to  jump 
into  the  river  and  drown  himself.  The  filthy  black 
water,  however,  hardly  invited  to  immersion. 

It  was  during  these  libidinous  spells  that  dark, 
sinister  thoughts  assailed  him, — the  notion  of  how 
useless  his  life  was,  the  certainty  of  an  adverse  fate, 
— and  as  he  considered  the  vagabond,  abandoned 
existence  that  awaited  him,  his  soul  walked  with  bit- 
terness and  sobs  rose  in  his  throat.  .  .  . 

One  winter  Sunday  Justa,  who  had  got  into  the 
habit  of  visiting  her  parents  on  every  holday,  did 
not  appear.  Manuel  wondered  whether  the  inclem- 
ent weather  might  be  the  cause  and  he  spent  the 
whole  week  restless  and  nervous,  counting  the  days 
that  would  intervene  before  their  next  meeting. 

On  the  following  Sunday  Manuel  went  to  the 
corner  of  the  Paseo  de  los  Pontones  to  wait  for  the 
girl  to  come  along;  as  he  espied  her  at  a  distance  his 
heart  gave  a  jump.  She  was  accompanied  by  a 
young  dandy,  half  bull-fighter  and  half  gentleman, 
wearing  a  Cordovan  hat  and  a  blue  cloak  covered 
with  embroidery.  At  the  end  of  the  avenue  Justa 
took  leave  of  her  escort. 

The  next  Sunday  Justa  came  to  her  parents'  home 
with  a  igirl  friend  and  the  young  man  of  the  em- 
broidered cloak;  she  introduced  the  young  man  to 
Senor  Custodio.  Afterward  she  said  that  he  was 
the  son  of  a  butcher  from  La  Corredera  Alta,  and  to 
her  mother  Justa  confessed  bashfully  that  the  gen- 
tleman had  asked  permission  to  pay  her  attentions. 
This  phrase  pay  attentions,  which  is  spoken  by  the 
haughtiest  princess  and  the  humblest  janitress  with 


CUSTODIO'S    IDEAS         271 

equally  lingering  pleasure,  enchanted  the  ragdealer's 
wife,  particularly  as  the  gentleman  in  question  came 
of  a  wealthy  family. 

In  Sefior  Custodio's  home  the  butcher's  son  was 
considered  as  the  paragon  of  all  perfections  and 
beauties;  Manuel  alone  protested  and  El  Carnicerin 
(the  little  butcher), — as  he  had  named  him  deri- 
sively from  the  very  first  moment, — was  the  object 
of  his  murderous  glances. 

When  Manuel  understood  that  Justa  considered 
the  butcher's  son  as  an  ideal  suitor,  his  sufferings 
were  cruel.  It  was  no  longer  melancholy  that  moved 
his  soul,  which  was  now  agitated  by  the  most  raging 
despair. 

The  fellow  had  too  many  advantages  over  him: 
he  was  tall,  graceful,  slender,  flaunted  a  fair,  bud- 
ding moustache,  was  well-dressed,  his  fingers  covered 
with  rings,  an  expert  dancer  and  skilful  player  on 
the  guitar;  he  almost  had  a  right  to  be  as  content 
with  himself  as  he  was. 

"How  can  that  woman  fail  to  see,"  thought  Man- 
uel, "that  the  fellow  loves  only  himself?  While 
I.  .  .  ." 

On  Sundays  there  used  to  be  dancing  on  a  lawn 
near  the  Ronda  de  Segovia,  and  Sefior  Custodio, 
with  his  wife,  Justa  and  her  sweetheart,  would  go 
there.  They  would  leave  Manuel  behind  to  watch 
the  house,  but  at  times  he  would  run  off  to  see  the 
dance. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  Justa  dancing  with  El 
Carnicerin  he  was  overwhelmed  with  a  desire  to 
drown  them  both. 


272  THEQUEST 

The  suitor,  moreover,  was  a  terrible  show-off; 
he  would  affect  a  feminine  grace  as  he  danced,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  he  were  applauding  and  compliment- 
ing himself.  He  kept  so  finically  true  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  dance  that  a  spontaneous  motion  might  ruin 
everything.  He  wouldn't  have  officiated  at  mass 
with  greater  ceremony. 

As  was  natural,  such  a  complete  knowledge  of  the 
science  of  dancing,  united  to  his  consciousness  of 
superiority,  endowed  El  Carnicerin  with  admirable 
self-possession.  It  was  he  who  was  permitting  him- 
self indolently  to  be  won  by  Justa,  who  was  frantic- 
ally fond  of  him.  As  they  danced  she  threw  her- 
self upon  him,  her  eyes  sparkled  and  her  nostrils 
dilated;  it  seemed  as  if  she  wished  to  dominate  him, 
swallow  him,  devour  him.  She  did  not  take  her  eyes 
off  him,  and  if  she  saw  him  with  another  woman 
her  face  at  once  turned  colour. 

One  afternoon  El  Carnicerin  was  speaking  to  a 
friend.  Manuel  drew  near  so  as  to  overhear  the 
conversation. 

"Is  that  the  girl?"  his  friend  inquired. 

"She's  the  one." 

"Boy,  maybe  she  isn't  daffy  over  you." 

And  El  Carnicerin,  with  a  conceited  smile,  added: 

"I've  turned  her  head,  all  right." 

Manuel  could  have  torn  out  the  fop's  heart  at 
that  moment. 

His  disappointment  in  love  made  him  think  of 
leaving  Senor  Custodio's  house. 

One  day  he  met,  near  the  Segovia  bridge,  El  Bizco 
and  another  ragamuffin  that  was  with  him. 


CUSTODIO'S   IDEAS         273 

They  were  both  in  tatters ;  El  Bizco  looked  grim- 
mer and  more  brutish  than  ever.  He  wore  an  old 
jacket  through  the  rents  of  which  peered  his  dark 
skin;  according  to  what  they  said,  they  were  both 
on  their  way  to  the  intersection  of  Aravaca  road  and 
the  Extremadura  cart-road,  to  a  spot  they  called 
the  Confessionary.  They  expected  to  meet  El 
Cura  and  El  Hospiciano  there  and  rob  a  house. 

"What  do  you  say?  Will  you  join  us?"  asked  El 
Bizco  sarcastically. 

"No,  I  won't." 

"Where  are  you  now?" 

"In  a  house  .  .  .  working." 

"There's  a  brave  fool  for  you  I     Come  on,  join 


us." 


"No.  I  can't.  .  .  .  Listen,  how  about  Vidal? 
Didn't  you  ever  see  him  again?" 

El  Bizco's  face  turned  grimmer  than  ever. 

"I'll  get  even  with  that  scoundrel.  He  won't 
escape  before  I  carve  a  nice  scar  on  his  face.  .  .  . 
But  are  you  coming  along  with  us  or  not?" 

"No." 

Senor  Custodio's  ideas  had  worked  a  strong  in- 
fluence upon  Manuel;  but  since,  despite  this,  his  ad- 
venturous  instincts  persisted,  he  thought  of  going 
off  to  America,  or  becoming  a  sailor,  or  something 
of  that  sort. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Square — A  Wedding  in  La  Bombilla — The  Asphalt 
Caldrons. 

THE  betrothal  of  El  Carnicerin  and  Justa 
was  formally  arranged,  Senor  Custodio  and 
his  wife  bathed  in  rose  water,  and  only 
Manuel  believed  that  in  the  end  the  wedding  would 
never  take  place. 

El  Carnicerin  was  all  together  too  haughty  and 
too  much  of  a  fine  fellow  to  marry  the  daughter  of 
a  ragdealer;  Manuel  imagined  that  now  the 
butcher's  son  would  try  to  take  advantage  of  his  op- 
portunity. But  for  the  present  nothing  authorized 
such  malevolent  suppositions. 

El  Carnicerin  was  generosity  itself  and  showed 
delicate  attentions  to  his  sweetheart's  parents. 

One  summer  day  he  invited  the  whole  family  and 
Manuel  to  a  bull  fight.  Justa  dressed  up  very 
fetchingly  in  her  best  to  make  a  worthy  companion 
to  her  lover.  Senor  Custodio  took  out  his  finest 
apparel :  the  new  fedora,  new  although  it  was  more 
than  thirty  years  old;  his  coat  of  doubled  cloth, 
excellent  for  the  boreal  regions,  and  a  cane  with  a 
horn  handle,  bought  in  El  Rastro;  the  ragdealer's 
wife  wore  a  flowered  kerchief,  while  Manuel  made 
a  most  ridiculous  appearance  in  a  hat  that  was  taken 

274 


THE   SQUARE  275 

from  the  shop  and  protruded  about  a  palm's  length 
before  his  eyes,  a  winter  suit  that  suffocated  him  and 
a  pair  of  tight  shoes. 

Behind  Justa  and  El  Carnicerin,  Senor  Custodio, 
his  wife  and  Manuel  attracted  everybody's  attention 
and  left  a  wake  of  laughter. 

Justa  turned  back  to  look  at  them  and  could  not 
help  smiling.  Manuel  walked  along  in  a  rage,  sti- 
fling, his  hat  pressing  tightly  against  his  forehead 
and  his  feet  aching. 

They  got  into  a  street  car  at  Toledo  Street  and 
rode  to  the  Puerta  del  Sol;  there  they  boarded  an 
omnibus,  which  took  them  to  the  bull  ring. 

They  entered  and,  guided  by  El  Carnicerm,  sat 
themselves  down  in  their  respective  places.  The 
spectacle  had  begun  and  the  amphitheatre  was 
packed.  Tier  upon  tier  was  crammed  with  a  black 
mass  of  humanity. 

Manuel  glared  into  the  arena ;  they  were  about  to 
kill  the  bull  near  the  stone  wall  that  bounded  the 
ring,  at  a  short  distance  from  where  they  were. 
The  poor  beast,  half  dead  already,  was  dragging 
himself  slowly  along,  followed  by  three  or  four 
toreros  and  the  matador,  who,  curved  forward, 
with  his  red  flag  in  one  hand  and  his  sword  in  the 
other,  came  behind.  The  matador  was  scared  out 
of  his  wits;  he  stood  before  the  bull,  considered 
carefully  just  where  he  was  to  strike  him,  and  at 
the  beast's  slightest  movement  he  prepared  to  escape. 
Then,  if  the  bull  remained  quiet  a  while,  he  struck 
him  once,  again,  and  the  animal  lowered  his  head; 
with  his  tongue  hanging  out,  dripping  blood,  he 


276  THEQUEST 

gazed  out  of  the  sad  eyes  of  a  dying  creature. 
After  much  effort  the  matador  gave  him  the  final 
stroke  and  killed  him. 

The  crowd  applauded  and  the  band  blared  forth. 
iThe  whole  business  struck  Manuel  as  pretty  disagree- 
able, but  he  waited  eagerly.  The  mules  came  out 
and  dragged  off  the  dead  bull. 

Soon  the  music  ceased  and  another  bull  appeared. 
The  picadores  remained  close  to  the  walls  while  the 
toreros  ventured  a  bit  nearer  to  the  beast  and 
waved  their  red  flags,  at  once  rushing  back. 

This  was  hardly  anything  like  the  picture  Manuel 
had  conjured  up  for  himself,  or  like  what  he  had 
seen  in  the  coloured  illustrations  of  La  Lid'ia.  He 
had  always  imagined  that  the  toreros,  in  the  sheer 
skill  of  their  art,  would  play  around  with  the  bull, 
and  there  wasn't  any  of  this;  they  entrusted  their 
salvation  to  their  legs,  just  like  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

After  the  inciting  tactics  of  the  toreros,  two 
monosabios  began  to  beat  a  picador's  horse  with 
several  sticks,  until  they  got  him  to  advance  as  far  as 
the  middle  of  the  arena.  Manuel  had  a  close  view 
of  the  horse;  he  was  a  large,  white,  bony  creature 
with  the  saddest  look  on  his  face.  The  monosabios 
goaded  him  on  toward  the  bull.  Soon  the  beast 
drew  near,  the  picador  pricked  him  with  the  point 
of  his  lance,  the  bull  lowered  his  head  for  the  at- 
tack and  threw  the  horse  into  the  air.  The  rider 
fell  to  the  ground  and  was  picked  up  in  a  trice ;  the 
horse  tried  to  raise  himself,  with  his  intestines 
sprawling  on  the  sand  in  a  pool  of  blood;  he  tram- 


THE    SQUARE  277 

pled  on  them  with  his  hoofs,  his  legs  wavered  and 
he  fell  convulsively  to  the  ground. 

Manuel  arose  deathly  pale. 

A  monosabio  approached  the  horse,  who  was 
still  quivering;  the  animal  raised  his  head  as  if  to 
ask  help,  whereupon  the  man  stabbed  him  to  death 
with  a  poniard. 

"I'm  going.  This  is  too  nasty  for  anything," 
said  Manuel  to  Senor  Custodio.  But  it  was  no 
easy  matter  to  leave  the  ring  at  that  moment. 

"The  boy,"  said  the  ragdealer  to  his  wife, 
"doesn't  like  it." 

Justa,  who  had  learned  what  was  the  matter, 
burst  into  laughter. 

Manuel  waited  for  the  bull  to  be  put  to  death; 
he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  downward;  the  mules  came  out 
again,  and  as  they  dragged  off  the  horse's  body  the 
intestines  were  left  on  the  ground  until  a  monosabio 
came  along  and  dragged  them  off  with  a  rake. 

"Look  at  that  tripe!"  cried  Justa,  laughing. 

Manuel,  without  a  word,  and  unmindful  of  the 
eyes  that  were  turned  his  way,  left  the  tier.  He 
went  down  to  a  series  of  long  galleries,  ranged  with 
vile-smelling  urinals,  and  tried  unsuccessfully  to 
locate  the  exit. 

He  was  filled  with  rage  against. the  whole  world, 
against  the  others  and  against  himself.  The  spec- 
tacle  seemed  to  him  a  most  repugnant,  cowardly 
atrocity. 

He  had  imagined  bull-fighting  to  be  something 
utterly  distinct  from  what  he  had  just  witnessed; 
he  had  thought  that  always  it  would  display  the 


278  THEQUEST 

mastery  of  man  over  beast,  and  that  the  sword- 
thrusts  would  flash  like  lightning;  that  every  moment 
of  the  struggle  would  bring  forth  something  inter- 
esting and  suggestive;  and  instead  of  a  spectacle 
such  as  he  had  visioned,  instead  of  a  gory  apothe- 
osis of  valour  and  strength,  he  beheld  a  petty,  filthy 
thing,  a  medley  of  cowardice  and  intestines,  a  cele- 
bration in  which  one  saw  nothing  but  the  torero's 
fear  and  the  cowardly  cruelty  of  the  public  taking 
pleasure  in  the  throb  of  that  fear. 

"This,"  thought  Manuel,  "could  please  only  folks 
like  El  Carnicerin,  effeminate  loafers  and  indecent 


women." 


Reaching  home  Manuel  ragingly  threw  down  his 
hat,  pulled  off  his  shoes  and  got  out  of  the  suit  in 
which  he  had  so  ridiculously  gone  to  the  bull 
fight.  .  .  . 

Manuel's  indignation  elicited  plenty  of  comment 
from  Senor  Custodio  and  his  wife,  and  he  himself 
was  somewhat  intimidated  by  it;  he  understood  that 
the  spectacle  hadn't  been  to  his  taste;  what  struck 
him  as  strange  was  that  it  should  rouse  so  much 
anger,  such  rage  in  him. 

Summer  went  by;  Justa  began  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  her  wedding,  and  in  the  meantime  Manuel 
thought  of  leaving  Senor  Custodio's  house  and  get- 
ting out  of  Madrid  altogether.  Whither?  He 
didn't  know;  the  farther  away,  the  better,  he 
thought. 

In  November  one  of  Justa's  shopmates  got  mar- 
ried, in  La  Bombilla.  Senor  Custodio  and  his  wife 


found  it  impossible  to  attend,  so  that  Manuel  accom- 
panied Justa. 

The  bride  lived  in  the  Ronda  de  Toledo,  and  her 
house  was  the  meeting-place  for  all  the  guests. 

At  the  door  a  large  omnibus  was  waiting;  it 
could  hold  any  number  of  persons. 

All  the  guests  piled  in;  Justa  and  Manuel  found 
a  place  on  the  top  and  waited  a  while.  The  bride 
and  bridegroom  appeared  amidst  a  throng  of  gamins 
who  were  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  lungs;  the 
groom  looked  like  a  dry  goods  clerk;  she,  emaciated 
and  ugly,  looked  like  a  monkey;  the  best  man  and 
the  bridesmaids  followed  after,  and  in  this  group 
a  fat  old  lady,  flat-nosed,  cross-eyed,  white-haired, 
with  a  red  rose  in  her  hair  and  a  guitar  in  her  hand, 
advanced  with  a  flamenco  air. 

"Hurrah  for  the  bride  and  groom!  Hurrah  for 
the  best  man  and  the  maid-of-honour!"  shouted  the 
cross-eyed  fright;  there  was  a  chorus  of  unenthusi- 
astic  responses  and  the  coach  departed  amidst  a 
hubbub  and  a  shouting.  On  the  way  everybody 
shrieked  and  sang. 

Manuel  did  not  dare  to  rejoice  at  his  failure  to 
see  El  Carnicerm  in  the  crowd;  he  felt  positive 
that  the  fellow  would  show  up  at  Los  Viveros. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  humid  morning;  the  trees, 
copper-hued,  were  losing  their  yellow  leaves  in  the 
gentle  gusts;  white  clouds  furrowed  the  pale  sky, 
the  road  glittered  with  the  moisture;  afar  in  the 
fields  burned  heaps  of  dead  leaves  and  thick  curls 
of  smoke  rolled  along  close  to  the  soil. 


280  THEQUEST 

The  coach  halted  before  one  of  the  inns  of  Los 
Viveros;  everybody  rolled  out  of  the  omnibus  and 
the  shouts  and  clamouring  were  heard  anew.  El 
Carnicerin  was  not  there,  but  he  soon  appeared  and 
sat  down  at  table  right  beside  Justa. 

The  day  seemed  hateful  to  Manuel;  there  were 
moments  in  which  he  felt  like  crying.  He  spent  the 
whole  afternoon  despairing  in  a  corner,  watching 
Justa  dance  with  her  sweetheart  in  time  to  the  tunes 
of  a  barrel-organ. 

At  night  Manuel  went  over  to  Justa  and  with 
comic  gravity,  said  to  her  abruptly: 

"Come  along,  you — "  and  seeing  that  she  paid  no 
attention  to  him,  he  added,  "Listen,  Justa,  let's  be 
going  home." 

"Get  away.  Leave  me  in  peace !"  she  retorted 
rudely. 

"Your  father  told  you  to  be  back  home  by  night. 
Come  along,  now." 

"See  here,  my  child,"  interposed  El  Carnicerin 
with  calm  deliberation.  "Who  gave  you  a  taper 
to  bear  at  this  funeral?" 

"I  was  entrusted  to.  .  .  ." 

"All  right.     Shut  up.     Understand?" 

"I  don't  feel  like  it." 

"Well,  I'll  make  you  with  a  good  ear-warming." 

"You  make  me?  .  .  .  Why,  you're  nothing  but 
a  low-down  lout,  a  thief — "  and  Manuel  was  ad- 
vancing against  El  Carnicerin,  when  one  of  the  fel- 
low's friends  gave  him  a  punch  in  the  head  that 
stunned  him.  The  boy  made  another  attempt  to 
rush  upon  the  butcher's  son;  two  or  three  guests 


THE    SQUARE  281 

pushed  him  out  of  the  way  and  shoved  him  out  on 
to  the  road  at  the  door  of  the  inn. 

"Starveling!  .  .  .  Loafer!"  shouted  Manuel. 

"You're  one  yourself,"  cried  one  of  Justa's 
friends  tauntingly  after  him.  "Rabble!  Gutter- 
snipe !" 

Manuel,  filled  with  shame  and  thirsting  for  ven- 
geance, still  half  .dazed  by  the  blow,  thrust  his  cap 
down  over  his  face  and  stamped  along  the  road 
weeping  with  rage.  Soon  after  he  left  he  heard 
somebody  running  toward  him  from  behind. 

"Manuel,  Manolillo,"  said  Justa  to  him  in  an 
affectionate,  jesting  voice.  "What's  the  matter?" 

Manuel  breathed  heavily  and  a  long  sigh  of  grief 
escaped  him. 

"What's  the  matter?  Come,  let's  return.  We'll 
go  together." 

"No,  no;  go  away  from  me." 

He  was  at  a  loss;  without  another  word  he  set 
off  on  a  run  toward  Madrid. 

The  wild  flight  dried  his  tears  and  rekindled  his 
fury.  He  meant  not  to  return  to  Sefior  Custodio's 
even  if  he  died  of  hunger. 

His  rage  rose  in  waves  up  his  throat;  he  felt  a 
blind  madness,  hazy  notions  of  attacking,  of  destroy- 
ing everything,  of  razing  the  world  to  the  ground 
and  disemboweling  every  living  creature. 

Mentally  he  promised  El  Carnicerin  that  if  ever 
he  met  him  alone,  he  would  sink  his  claws  into  his 
neck  and  strangle  him;  he  would  split  the  fellow's 
head  in  two  as  they  do  to  hogs,  and  would  hang 
him  up  head  downwards  with  a  stick  between  his 


282  THE   QUEST 

ribs  and  another  in  his  intestines,  and  moreover, 
he'd  place  a  tin  box  at  his  mouth  into  which  his 
cursed  pig's  blood  could  drip. 

Then  he  generalized  his  hatred  and  considered 
that  society  itself  was  against  him,  intent  only  upon 
plaguing  him  and  denying  him  everything. 

Very  well,  then;  he  would  go  against  society,  he 
would  join  El  Bizco  and  assassinate  right  and  left, 
and  when,  wearied  of  committing  so  many  crimes, 
he  would  be  led  to  the  scaffold,  he  would  look  scorn- 
fully down  from  the  platform  upon  the  people  below 
and  die  with  a  supreme  gesture  of  hatred  and  dis- 
dain. 

While  all  these  thoughts  of  wholesale  extermina- 
tion thronged  in  his  brain,  night  was  falling. 
Manuel  walked  up  to  the  Plaza  de  Oriente  and 
followed  thence  along  Arenal  Street. 

A  strip  of  the  Puerta  del  Sol  was  being  asphalted; 
ten  or  twelve  furnaces  ranged  in  a  row  were  belch- 
ing thick  acrid  smoke  through  their  chimneys.  The 
white^  illumination  of  the  arc-lights  had  not  yet  been 
turned  on;  the  silhouettes  of  a  number  of  men  who 
were  stirring  with  long  shovels  the  mass  of  asphalt 
in  the  caldrons  danced  diabolically  up  and  down 
before  the  flaming  mouths  of  the  furnaces. 

Manuel  approached  one  of  the  caldrons  when 
suddenly  he  heard  his  name  called.  It  was  El  Bizco; 
he  was  seated  upon  some  paving  blocks. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  Manuel  asked  him. 

"We've  been  thrown  out  of  the  caves,"  answered 
El  Bizco,  "and  it's  cold.  What  about  you?  Have 
you  left  the  house?" 


THE   SQUARE  283 

"Yes." 

"Have  a  seat." 

Manuel  sat  down  and  rested  his  back  against  a 
keg  of  asphalt. 

Lights  began  to  sparkle  in  the  balconies  of  the 
residences  and  in  the  shop  windows;  the  street  cars 
arrived  gently,  as  if  they  were  vessels  floating  in, 
with  their  yellow,  green  and  red  lanterns ;  their  bells 
rang  and  they  traced  graceful  circles  around  the 
•Puerta  del  Sol.  Carriages,  horses,  carts  came  rat- 
tling by;  the  itinerant  hawkers  cried  their  wares  from 
their  sidewalk  stands;  there  was  a  deafening  din. 
...  At  the  end  of  one  street,  against  the  coppery 
splendour  of  the  dusk  stood  out  the  tapering  out- 
lines of  a  belfry. 

"And  don't  you  ever  see  Vidal?"  asked  Manuel. 

"No.  See  here.  Have  you  got  any  money?" 
blurted  El  Bizco. 

"Twenty  or  thirty  centimes  at  most." 

"Fine." 

Manuel  bought  a  loaf  of  bread,  which  he  gave 
to  El  Bizco,  and  the  two  drank  a  glass  of  brandy 
in  a  tavern.  Then  they  went  wandering  about 
the  streets  and,  at  about  eleven*  returned  to  the 
Puerta  del  Sol. 

Around  the  asphalt  caldrons  had  gathered  knots 
of  men  and  tattered  gamins ;  some  were  sleeping  with 
their  heads  bent  against  the  furnace  as  if  they  were 
about  to  attack  it  in  bull  fashion.  The  ragamuffins 
were  talking  and  shouting,  and  they  laughed  at  the 
passers-by  who  came  over  out  of  curiosity  for  a 
closer  look. 


284  THEQUEST 

"We  sleep  just  as  if  we  were  in  the  open  country,'* 
said  one  of  the  idlers. 

"It  wouldn't  be  at  all  bad,"  added  another,  "to 
take  a  walk  now  over  to  the  Plaza  Mayor  and 
see  whether  they  wouldn't  give  us  a  pound  of  ham." 

"It  has  trichinae  in  it,  anyway." 

"Take  care  of  that  spring-matress,"  bellowed  a 
flat-nosed  gamin  who  was  going  about  striking  the 
sleepers  with  a  stick  in  the  shins.  "Hey,  there, 
you're  rumpling  the  sheets!" 

At  Manuel's  side,  a  rachetic  urchin  with  thick 
lips  and  streaked  eyes  and  one  of  his  feet  bandaged 
in  dirty  rags,  was  crying  and  groaning;  Manuel,  en- 
grossed in  his  own  thoughts,  had  not  noticed  him 
before. 

"Some  howling  you're  doing,"  came  to  the  suf- 
ferer from  a  boy  who  was  stretched  out  on  the 
ground  with  his  legs  cramped  close  to  his  chest  and 
his  head  pillowed  against  a  rock. 

"It  hurts  like  anything." 

"Then  shut  up,  grin  and  bear  it.  Hang  your- 
self." 

Manuel  thought  that  he  heard  El  Carnicerin's 
voice  and  glanced  toward  the  speaker.  The  fel- 
low's hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes  and  his 
face  was  not  visible. 

"Who's  that?'"  asked  Manuel  of  El  Bizco. 

"He's  the  captain  of  the  cave  gang:  El  Inter- 
prete." 

"And  what's  he  talking  to  the  kid  like  that  for?" 

El  Bizco  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  gesture 
.of  indifference. 


THE   SQUARE  285 

"What's'  the  trouble?"  Manuel  inquired  of  the 
boy. 

"I  have  a  wound  in  my  foot,"  replied  the  child, 
bursting  again  into  tears. 

"Shut  up,  I  tell  you,"  interrupted  El  Interprete, 
aiming  a  kick  at  the  sufferer,  who  managed  to  es- 
cape the  blow.  "Go  tell  your  troubles  to  your  bitch 
of  a  mother.  .  .  .  Damn  it  all!  It's  impossible  to 
sleep  here." 

"Then  to  hell  with  you!"  shouted  Manuel. 

"Who  are  you  talking  to?"  demanded  El  Inter- 
prete, shoving  his  cap  back  on  his  head  and  revealing 
a  brutish  face  with  a  flat  nose  and  high  cheekbones. 

"To  you,  you  thief,  you  coward!" 

El  Interprete  sprang  to  his  feet  and  strode  over 
to  Manuel,  who,  in  an  excess  of  fury  seized  him  with 
both  hands  by  the  neck,  kicked  him  in  the  leg  with 
his  right  heel,  made  him  lose  his  balance  and  threw 
him  to  the  ground.  There  he  thumped  him  vi- 
olently. El  Interprete,  more  muscular  than  Manuel, 
was  able  to  get  to  his  feet  again;  but  he  had  lost  his 
nerve  and  Manuel,  gathering  strength  from  his 
anger,  threw  him  down  a  second  time  and  was  about 
to  crash  a  rock  into  his  face  when  a  pair  of  municipal 
guards  happened  along  and  kicked  them  apart. 
El  Interprete  went  off  disgraced. 

The  members  of  the  crowd  calmed  down  and 
went  off,  one  after  the  other,  to  resume  their  posi- 
tions around  the  caldron. 

Manuel  sat  down  upon  some  paving  blocks;  the 
struggle  had  wiped  out  the  memory  of  the  blow  he 
had  received  that  afternoon;  he  felt  brave  and  in  a 


286  THE   QUEST 

jesting  mood,  so,  facing  the  curiosity-hunters  that 
were  watching  the  group,  some  laughing  and  others 
eyeing  the  urchins  with  pity,  he  addressed  them. 

"The  session  is  about  to  close,"  he  said.  "Now 
we  shall  begin  the  community  singing  lessons. 
We're  about  to  commence  snoring,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. Let  the  public  have  no  fear.  We'll  take 
good  care  of  the  bedsheets.  Tomorrow  we'll  send 
them  to  the  river  to  be  washed.  Now  is  the  time. 
Whoever  so  desires,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  rock,  "may 
take  advantage  of  these  pillows.  They're  excellent 
pillows,  such  as  are  used  by  the  Marquises  of  Archi- 
pipi.  Whoever  doesn't  wish  to  sleep  on  them,  let 
him  be  gone  and  not  bother  us.  Ea  I  Gentlemen ! 
If  you  don't  pay  I'll  summon  the  servant  and  tell 
her  to  close.  .  -.  ." 

"It's  the  same  with  all  of  them,"  said  one  of  the 
ragamuffins.  "They  talk  nonsense  when  they  get 
sleepy.  They  all  look  as  if  they  were  starved." 

Manuel  felt  as  garrulous  as  a  mountebank. 
When  he  had  wearied,  he  leaned  against  a  heap 
of  stones  and  with  arms  crossed  prepared  to  sleep. 

Shortly  after  this  the  group  of  curiosity-hunters 
had  dispersed;  only  a  guard  and  an  old  gentleman 
were  left,  and  they  discussed  the  ragamuffins  in  tones 
of  pity. 

The  gentleman  deplored  the  way  these  children 
were  abandoned  and  said  that  in  other  countries  they 
built  schools  and  asylums  and  a  thousand  other 
things.  The  guard  shook  his  head  dubiously.  At 
last  he  summed  up  the  conversation,  saying  in  the 
tranquil  manner  of  a  Galician : 


THE   SQUARE  287 

"Take  my  word  for  it:  there's  no  good  left  in  X 
any  of  them." 

Manuel,  hearing  this,  began  to  tremble;  he  arose 
from  his  place  on  the  ground,  left  the  Puerta  del 
Sol  and  began  to  wander  aimlessly  about. 

"There's  no  good  left  in  any  of  theml"  The 
remark  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him. 
Why  wasn't  he  good?  Why?  He  examined  his 
life.  He  wasn't  bad,  he  had  harmed  nobody.  He 
hated  El  Carnicerin  because  that  fellow  had  robbed 
him  of  happiness,  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
go  on  living  in  the  one  corner  where  he  had  found 
some  affection  and  shelter.  Then  contradicting  him- 
self, he  imagined  that  perhaps  he  was  bad  after  all, 
and  in  this  case  the  most  he  could  do  was  to  reform 
and  become  better. 

Absorbed  in  these  reflections,  he  was  passing  along 
Alcala  Street  when  he  heard  his  name  called  several 
times.  It  was  La  Mella  and  La  Rabanitos,  skulk- 
ing in  a  doorway. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  man.  Just  a  word  with  you.  Have 
you  come  into  your  money  yet?" 

"No.     What  are  you  doing?" 

"Hiding  here,"  answered  La  Mella. 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"There's  a  round-up,  and  that  skunk  of  an  in- 
spector wants  to  take  us  to  the  station,  even  if  we 
do  pay  him.  Keep  us  company!" 

Manuel  accompanied  them  for  a  while;  but  they 
both  picked  up  a  couple  of  men  on  the  way  and  he 
was  left  alone.  He  returned  to  the  Puerta  del  Sol. 


288  THE   QUEST 

The  night  seemed  to  him  endless;  he  walked 
around  and  walked  yet  again;  the  electric  lights 
were  extinguished,  the  street-cars  stopped  running, 
the  square  was  left  in  darkness. 

Between  Montera  and  Alcala  Streets  there  was 
a  cafe  before  whose  illuminated  windows  women 
passed  up  and  down  dressed  in  brights  clothes  and 
wearing  crape  kerchiefs,  singing,  accosting  benighted 
passers-by;  several  loafers,  lurking  behind  the  lan- 
terns, watched  them  and  chatted  with  them,  giving 
them  orders.  .  .  . 

Then  came  a  procession  of  street-women,  touts 
and  procurers.  All  of  parasitical,  indolent,  gay 
Madrid  issued  forth  at  these  hours  from  the  taverns, 
the  dens,  the  gambling-houses,  the  dives  and  vice 
resorts,  and  amidst  the  poverty  and  misery  that 
throbbed  in  the  thoroughfares  these  night-owls 
strutted  by  with  their  lighted  cigars,  conversing, 
laughing,  joking  with  the  prostitutes,  indifferent  to 
the  agony  of  all  these  ragged,  hungry,  shelterless 
wretches  who,  shivering  with  the  cold,  sought  refuge 
in  the  doorways. 

A  few  old  strumpets  remained  at  the  street- 
corners,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  smoking.  .  .  . 

It  was  long  before  the  heavens  grew  bright;  it 
was  still  night  when  the  coffee  stands  were  opened, 
and  the  coachmen  and  ragamuffins  went  up  for  their 
cup  or  glass.  The  gas  lamps  were  extinguished. 

The  light  from  the  watchmen's  lanterns  danced 
across  the  grey  pavement,  which  already  was  dimly 
lighted  by  the  pale  glow  of  dawn,  and  the  black 
silhouettes  of  the  ragdealers  stood  out  against  the 


THE   SQUARE  289 

heaps  of  ordure  as  they  bent  over  to  take  the  rub- 
bish. Now  and  then  some  pale  benighted  fellow 
with  his  coat  collar  raised,  would  glide  by  as  sinis- 
ter as  an  owl  before  the  growing  light  and  soon 
some  workmen  passed.  .  .  .  Industrious,  honest; 
Madrid  was  preparing  for  its  hard  daily  task. 

This  transition  from  the  feverish  turmoil  of  night 
to  the  calm,  serene  activity  of  morning  plunged 
Manuel  into  profound  thought. 

He  understood  that  the  existence  of  the  night- 
owls  and  that  of  the  working  folk  were  parallel 
lives  that  never  for  an  instant  met.  For  the  ones, 
pleasure,  vice,  the  night;  for  the  others,  labour,  \ 
fatigue,  the  sun.  And  it  seemed  to  him,  too,  that 
he  should  belong  to  the  second  class,  to  the  folk  who 
toil  in  the  sun,  not  to  those  who  dally  in  the  shadows. 


END  OF 

(THE  QUEST) 

The  second  volume  of  the  trilogy  is  called  "Mala 
Hierba"  (Weeds)  ;  the  third,  "Aurora  Roja"  (Red 
Dawn). 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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